Category: community empowerment

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He Saw the Future of Philanthropy — and Built It

The Economics of Justice: Rev. Jesse Jackson Sr. and the Grassroots Philanthropic Revolution

If Part One of this series made the case that Rev. Jesse Jackson Sr. deserves a place in the philanthropic canon, Part Two is where we show our work. Because the evidence is not subtle. It is concrete, historical, and remarkably instructive for anyone working in fundraising, nonprofit strategy, or community-powered change today.

Two of Rev. Jackson’s most significant contributions — his economic justice campaigns and his presidential fundraising model — were not just politically significant. They were philanthropic innovations that the sector would spend the next four decades trying to replicate.

“Where you spend your money is where you spend your values. Rev. Jackson knew this before philanthropy had a sector.”

Operation Breadbasket & PUSH: Economic Philanthropy Before Its Time

Operation Breadbasket — and the People United to Save Humanity (PUSH) organization Rev. Jackson founded in 1971 — pioneered what we would today call economic philanthropy: the radical idea that where a community directs its money is itself a moral act.

Boycotts. Selective buying campaigns. Negotiating employment agreements with companies doing business in Black neighborhoods. These were not merely protests — they were resource redirection strategies. They said to corporations: you profit from this community. You will reinvest in it. That is not a demand. That is a philanthropic covenant.

Today’s ESG investing, impact funds, community development financial institutions (CDFIs), and mission-aligned corporate partnerships trace their philosophical DNA directly to that table. When a foundation today requires its investment portfolio to align with its mission, it is honoring a principle Rev. Jackson was practicing from church halls in Chicago in the late 1960s.

The vocabulary has changed. The principle has not.

PUSH and the Weekly Economic Forum

What made PUSH particularly remarkable as a philanthropic model was its consistency. Every Saturday morning, Jackson held what amounted to a community investment meeting — part sermon, part economic strategy session, part donor cultivation event. Community members, local business owners, corporate representatives, and activists gathered together around a shared table of accountability.

This is participatory philanthropy in its purest form. The community was not simply the recipient of resources — it was the convener, the evaluator, and the decision-maker. That model — which the sector now calls participatory grant-making — is considered cutting-edge today. Rev. Jackson was doing it every Saturday morning fifty years ago.

“Participatory grant-making is considered innovative today. Rev. Jackson was doing it every Saturday morning fifty years ago.”

The Presidential Campaigns: The Original Small-Donor Revolution

Here is the innovation that history most often overlooks. Rev. Jesse Jackson’s 1984 and 1988 presidential campaigns were among the first large-scale demonstrations that a candidate — or a cause — could build genuine political and financial power without institutional money, without Wall Street, and without the traditional donor class.

His base gave what they could. Small amounts. Consistently. With enormous emotional investment. Church collections. Kitchen table contributions. Community fundraisers in church basements and community centers. This was not poverty-of-means giving — it was abundance-of-conviction giving. And it worked. In 1988, he earned nearly seven million votes running on a platform funded largely by the very people those policies were designed to serve.

Think about what that means for a moment. The donor and the beneficiary were the same person. The community was simultaneously funding the campaign and electing its own champion. That is not just a fundraising model — it is a complete reimagining of the relationship between money, power, and community.

What This Means for Fundraisers Today

The $5 recurring donor. The text-to-give campaign. The crowdfunded mutual aid fund. The grassroots political campaign that outraises establishment opponents on the strength of small donations alone. None of these feel radical today. But they all rest on a proof of concept that Rev. Jesse Jackson Sr. established four decades before the digital infrastructure existed to scale it.

He proved, with real votes and real dollars, that ordinary people with deep conviction are not a consolation prize when major donors don’t show up. They are the most powerful fundraising force in existence. They give repeatedly. They recruit others. They don’t abandon the mission when it gets hard. They are the mission.

Every fundraiser who has ever built a major donor program knows that large gifts move the needle. But every fundraiser who has built something that lasts knows that the small donor base is the soul of the organization. Rev. Jackson knew this. He built his entire model around it.

Rest in power, Rev. Jesse Louis Jackson Sr.  |  October 8, 1941 – February 17, 2026

Monique Brizz-Walker

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Before There Was a Platform, There Was a Movement

Introducing Rev. Jesse Jackson Sr. as a Founding Architect of Grassroots Philanthropy

On February 17, 2026, America lost one of its most consequential voices. Rev. Jesse Louis Jackson Sr. — preacher, organizer, two-time presidential candidate, and founder of the Rainbow PUSH Coalition — died peacefully at his home in Chicago at the age of 84. The tributes poured in immediately, as they should. But this series is not simply a eulogy. It is a reclamation.

Because what most tributes will not tell you — what the obituaries rarely capture — is that Rev. Jesse Jackson Sr. was one of the earliest and most sophisticated practitioners of what we now call grassroots philanthropy. Decades before the nonprofit sector had a playbook, before GoFundMe existed, before impact investing had a name, Jackson was building the architecture of community-powered giving, movement-funded advocacy, and coalition-driven change.

He was doing it from pulpits and protest lines, from convention stages and community halls. And the sector is still catching up to him.

“He didn’t just keep hope alive. He kept resources alive — and he taught communities that they were the resource.”

A Fresh Lens on a Familiar Legacy

When we think of Jesse Jackson Sr., we think of the man at the balcony of the Lorraine Motel. We think of the 1988 Democratic National Convention, the booming voice, the soaring rhetoric. We think of “Keep Hope Alive.”

What we rarely think about — and what this series is here to argue — is the philanthropic infrastructure he was quietly, persistently, brilliantly building beneath all of it. The fundraising model. The coalition architecture. The community-as-donor philosophy. The donor retention strategy hiding in plain sight inside his most famous slogan.

Over the course of four articles, we will walk through five pillars of Rev. Jackson’s philanthropic legacy, and trace how each one maps onto the principles that drive the most successful nonprofit and fundraising work today. We will close by looking at who carries this forward — and what it means for all of us who work at the intersection of community, generosity, and change.

Why This Matters Now

The philanthropic sector is at an inflection point. Institutional donors are pulling back. DEI funding is under pressure. Grassroots movements are scrambling for resources. The old models of top-down philanthropy are straining under the weight of a world that has changed faster than the sector’s structures.

Into this moment steps the memory of a man who never waited for institutional permission to build something meaningful. Rev. Jesse Jackson Sr. understood — decades before the sector articulated it — that the most durable philanthropy is the kind that comes from the community itself. That ordinary people, pooling extraordinary conviction, are not just beneficiaries of generosity. They are its source.

That idea is not nostalgic. It is the answer to the questions the sector is wrestling with right now.

The Foundation: The Church as Philanthropic Infrastructure

Before we can understand what Jackson built, we must understand what he stood on. The Black church was already the most sophisticated philanthropic institution in America. It collected resources weekly. It distributed them locally. It mobilized people around shared values. It was, in the truest sense, a community foundation with a congregation.

Jackson understood this instinctively. He did not build from scratch — he scaled what already existed. His early work with Operation Breadbasket was rooted in the church’s economic leverage: organized congregations deciding, as a body, where to invest their collective purchasing power and where to withhold it.

That instinct — meet people where their generosity already lives — is the first and perhaps most enduring lesson for modern fundraisers. The most successful campaigns today, whether a capital campaign for a community hospital or a crowdfunding surge for disaster relief, succeed because they tap into existing communities of trust. Rev. Jackson understood that principle before it had a name.

“The most durable philanthropy comes from the community itself. Rev. Jackson knew this before the sector had language for it.”

What’s Coming in This Series

In Part Two, we explore how Rev. Jackson’s Operation Breadbasket and the founding of PUSH pioneered what we now call economic philanthropy — and how his presidential campaigns became the first large-scale proof of concept for small-donor fundraising.

In Part Three, we examine the Rainbow Coalition as a masterclass in donor diversification, and unpack why “Keep Hope Alive” was one of the most effective donor retention strategies in American history.

And in Part Four — published in honor of his funeral services in March — we look at who carries this legacy forward today, and what it means for every one of us who believes in the power of community to change the world.

The sector is still catching up to Rev. Jesse Jackson Sr. It is time we named that — and learned from it.

Fondly,

Monique

Rest in power, Rev. Jesse Louis Jackson Sr.  |  October 8, 1941 – February 17, 2026

This is Part 1 of 4 in the “Honoring Rev. Jesse Jackson Sr.” series. Next: Part Two — The Economics of Justice

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A Table Is Not Décor. It’s Design.

A table is never just a table.
It’s a signal.

It tells people what matters here.
How power moves here.
What kind of presence is required here.
Who will be seen—and who will be managed.

And long before anyone speaks, the table has already begun shaping the room.

Because gathering is not neutral.
It’s architecture.

And in leadership—especially mission-driven organizations—architecture is strategy.

The table is a container for trust

Most organizations think trust is built through communication.

It is. But not only.

Trust is also built through experience—through what the room makes people feel before the agenda ever begins.

A table that is thoughtfully designed communicates something without saying it:

We are prepared.
We are intentional.
We are not rushed.
You are not an afterthought here.

That’s not aesthetics.
That’s stewardship.

Because when people feel considered, they bring more of themselves into the room.
And when they bring more of themselves, the conversation changes.

Good design quiets the nervous system

People don’t come into boardrooms, donor conversations, strategy sessions, or vision meetings as blank slates.

They arrive carrying pressure.
History.
Protectiveness.
Competing priorities.
A need to feel smart, safe, and significant.

Design can’t solve all of that.

But it can soften the edges.
It can remove friction.
It can create ease.
It can help people exhale.

And when people exhale, they stop performing.
They stop posturing.
They become available for what the gathering was meant to do.

Luxury—real luxury—is not excess.
It’s not show.
It’s not proving.

It’s care you can feel.
Nothing jagged.
Nothing sloppy.
Nothing rushed.

It’s the quiet confidence of an environment that says:

We know what we’re doing.
And you can relax here.

This is why hospitality is not soft

Hospitality is often dismissed as a “nice touch.”

But in leadership spaces, hospitality is a form of power.

Not power that dominates—
power that stabilizes.

It creates order without rigidity.
It signals preparedness without performance.
It removes the need for people to fight for belonging in the room.

And when belonging is not in question, people stop competing for oxygen.

They listen better.
They contribute cleaner.
They make decisions without needing to prove themselves first.

This is not about entertaining.
This is about creating conditions where the right people can meet the moment.

The table reveals what you believe about your mission

Here’s the quiet leadership question underneath design:

Do you believe your mission deserves excellence?

Not perfection.
Excellence.

Because excellence is not about spending more money.
It’s about refusing to be careless with people’s experience.

It’s noticing what most people rush past.
It’s the discipline to say:

If we are asking people to invest in this mission—
their resources, their reputation, their leadership—
then the environment should reflect the weight of what we’re asking.

A table set with intention communicates:

We honor what this work requires.

Design protects the purpose

A well-designed gathering does something leaders rarely name out loud:

It protects the purpose from being hijacked.

Because when the room feels unstructured, people rush to structure it themselves.
They fill the gaps with their preferences.
Their anxieties.
Their need to control.

But when the environment is held—when it feels curated—there is less room for distraction to become leadership.

Design creates containment.
Containment creates clarity.

It makes the gathering less vulnerable to the loudest voice
and more available to the truest work.

Closing

A table is not décor.
It’s design.

It is how you shape the emotional temperature of the room.
How you communicate seriousness without announcing it.
How you create conditions where people can rise to the level of the mission.

And if your work is asking people to lead, to give, to govern, to invest—
then your gatherings deserve more than logistics.

They deserve intention.
They deserve care.
They deserve a room that doesn’t beg for significance—
but quietly carries it.

Because the most strategic rooms don’t chase attention.

They curate attention.

And the table is where that curation begins.

Monique

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When Women Stop Shrinking: Visibility Is Leadership

Light through open doors—visibility is leadership.

To every woman dimming her light in the name of service—this is for you.
And, truthfully, it is also for me.

On What We Learned to Do to Feel Safe

There is a particular brilliance nonprofit women carry. A quiet, resilient brilliance—earned in rooms where the work is held together by will, wisdom, endurance, and care.

And yet, many of us were taught to treat visibility as a risk.

Somewhere along the way, the message became:
“If I shine too brightly, it will seem like too much.”
“If I embrace beauty, they’ll think I’m less serious.”
“If I show up fully, I’ll make others uncomfortable.”

So we shrink—not because we lack strength, but because shrinking can feel like safety.
It can feel like belonging.
It can feel like protection.

But the cost is real.

On When the Call Is Coming From Inside the Room

We rarely name how women can be pressured—sometimes by other women—to stay “easy,” stay agreeable, stay small. Not always intentionally. Sometimes it’s unprocessed fear. Sometimes it’s a belief that visibility invites consequences. And sometimes it’s an underdeveloped leadership instinct—defaulting to correction or containment instead of guidance, context, and care.

But leadership requires discernment: you can honor other people’s discomfort without organizing your life around it.

On Service Without Self-Erasure

Please be assured:

You were never meant to disappear inside the work.

Your joy is not a distraction.
Your elegance is not excessive.
Your presence is not too much.
Your desire for beauty is not frivolous.

You are allowed to be visible and deeply committed.
You are allowed to be refined and undeniably formidable.

On the “Support-Only” Lens

I’ve learned something in my life as a consultant and as a special event fundraiser: people can get used to seeing you through a supporting lens.

Not always with malice. Not always consciously.
But easily.

It is easy for colleagues to celebrate the initiative and forget the woman behind it.
To applaud the outcomes while overlooking the leadership it took to create them.
To keep assigning you “support” even when you have the bandwidth, the vision, and the credibility to lead.

And when you’ve been conditioned to shrink, it can be tempting to accept that framing—because it’s familiar. Because it’s safer. Because it asks less of everyone else.

But support is not the ceiling.
And being helpful is not the same as being hidden.

On Presence as Leadership

For leaders, presence is strategy. It is communication. It is signal.

When you shrink, the room learns what it can expect from you.
When you rise, the room recalibrates.

You are allowed to take up space.
Allowed to be seen.
Allowed to be celebrated while still being respected.
Allowed to lead without apologizing for your humanity.

On What Changes When You Stop Shrinking

When women stop shrinking, the room expands.
And so does what becomes possible—for teams, missions, communities, and the women watching quietly from the edges.

So don’t dim.
Don’t disappear.

The mission deserves your excellence—
and you deserve the fullness of your own life, too.

I can be supportive and still be the leader. I do not need to negotiate my visibility to make others comfortable.

Stay encouraged!

Monique

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The Difference Between Being Busy and Being Effective

Busyness is easy to recognize.

Effectiveness takes longer to reveal itself.

On Motion

In many leadership spaces — particularly those rooted in service — motion is often mistaken for progress. Full calendars, constant responsiveness, and visible effort become proxies for value. Activity is seen. Presence is noted. Stillness, by contrast, is often misunderstood.

I know this not from theory, but from years spent supporting leaders — watching patterns repeat, initiatives cycle, and outcomes quietly tell the truth long after the activity has subsided. Over time, I’ve begun to recognize what actually moves work forward and what simply fills the space around it.

On Stillness

For much of my own life, stillness was not something to aspire to. Productivity was defined by motion and volume. Quiet thinking felt indulgent — a luxury reserved for those with time, money, or margin. To pause without producing something tangible felt irresponsible, even risky.

And yet, what I’ve come to understand is this: when I do not allow myself the luxury of being and thinking, clarity consistently misses me.

Without space, discernment has nowhere to land. Without pause, I remain in reaction — responding to what arrives rather than shaping what I am building.

Busyness keeps me occupied.
Effectiveness requires authorship.

There is a fundamental difference between responding to the moment and thoughtfully drawing the narrative I intend to step into. One is shaped by urgency; the other by intention. One is loud and immediately visible; the other is quieter, slower, and often misunderstood until its impact becomes undeniable.

On Quiet Authority

If any of this feels familiar, you’re not alone.

Effectiveness does not require having an opinion on everything. It does not demand a solution to every question or an answer to every invitation. Sometimes, it looks like passing. Sometimes, it looks like listening. Sometimes, it looks like allowing space where others expect immediacy.

Over time, I’ve learned to trust this quieter form of authority — the kind that does not announce itself, but holds its ground. The kind that understands when to engage and when restraint is the more powerful choice.

At this stage of leadership, I find myself less interested in how full something appears and more interested in what it actually supports. Effectiveness may take longer to reveal itself, but when it does, it leaves a mark that busyness never could.

Monique

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Clarity Over Compatibility: A Leadership Note for 2026

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

If “presence is not separate from leadership,” then clarity over compatibility is one of the most practical ways presence shows up. This is the question I’m holding as we enter 2026.

Compatibility prioritizes comfort.
Clarity protects the mission.

When clarity is missing, we start padding our message—adding qualifiers, softening decisions, explaining everything twice. It can feel polite, but it often creates confusion.

Clarity is not harsh. It’s generous.
It tells people where we’re going, what matters, and what “done” looks like.

Heading into 2026, here’s the question I’m holding:
Where do you need to say it once—clearly—and stop managing the reaction?

Fondly,
Monique

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The Courage to Be Seen in 2026: A Leadership Reflection

For women leading in nonprofits—and anyone who has ever edited their leadership presence.

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

As we approach 2026, I’ve been reflecting on leadership presence in mission-driven work—what it requires, what it communicates, and what happens when we feel pressured to diminish it.

Not because we lack confidence.
Not because we lack competence.
But because we’ve learned—often subtly, sometimes painfully—that visibility can invite scrutiny, misinterpretation, or rejection.

And in mission-driven work, many of us are taught to believe that service and visibility are incompatible.

That if we shine too brightly, it becomes “too much.”
That when we carry ourselves with elegance, it might be read as unserious.
That if we speak with conviction, we’ll be labeled difficult instead of decisive.

First we edit. When that doesn’t work, we soften and over-explain. All of it serves one goal: to stay careful.

I know this dynamic because I’ve lived it.

I’m writing this as a reflection, but also as a truth I’ve had to learn firsthand. This is not a hypothesis for me. It’s lived experience. I’ve navigated seasons where my strengths were valued—until a shift in leadership made those same strengths feel “wrong.” I internalized feedback that was delivered without care, and it took time to realize the problem wasn’t my capability—it was the culture around me.

The Shift

There was a season when my approach worked—until a leadership shift changed what was rewarded. Suddenly, the same instincts that had served the mission were treated as missteps. The feedback came without nuance, and because the culture reinforced a single way of thinking, I began to believe I was always the problem.

It took maturity—and distance—to see that the issue wasn’t my competence. It was the environment. In an echo chamber, one style of leadership becomes the only acceptable one—and anything different gets framed as “wrong.”

That experience changes you. If you’re not careful, it doesn’t just influence how you lead—it begins to shape how you see yourself.

Presence Is Not Separate From Leadership

Your presence is not a distraction from the mission.
It is part of how the mission is carried.

Your joy is not frivolous.
Your refinement is not excessive.
Your voice is not too much.
Your desire for beauty, clarity, and excellence is not a liability.

Many nonprofit leaders—especially women—have been conditioned to believe that the safest path is to be endlessly capable and quietly invisible.

But you were never meant to disappear inside the work.

The Difference Between Being Managed and Being Led

One of the reasons “editing ourselves” becomes so common is that many nonprofit environments confuse management with leadership—and when that happens, the culture often rewards compliance over clarity.

Here’s a simple distinction that has helped me:

  • Management protects the mission through clarity: plans, timelines, roles, and follow-through.
  • Leadership advances the mission through meaning: direction, alignment, courage, and culture.
  • The healthiest organizations need both—and they need them in the right order: direction first, then execution.

When leadership is strong, people feel oriented. They understand what matters, why it matters, and how their work connects to something larger.

When management is strong, people feel supported. They know what “done” looks like, how decisions are made, and what will keep the work moving.

But when either is missing—or when management becomes a substitute for leadership—people often start performing “acceptable” instead of practicing real leadership.

A Question to Carry Into 2026

If you’ve ever felt yourself shrinking in a room you were qualified to lead, consider this:

Where have I been editing myself—and what would shift if I didn’t?

Not in a performative way. Not as a loud reinvention. But as a steady decision to show up with less self-protection and more self-respect.

That might look like:

  • speaking with clarity instead of cushioning every point,
  • trusting your expertise without over-defending it,
  • allowing your presence to be intentional—not apologetic,
  • choosing rooms where your fullness is welcomed, not managed.

A Closing Thought

The most meaningful leadership shift many of us make isn’t about strategy. It’s about permission.

Permission to be seen.
Permission to be taken seriously without becoming smaller.
Permission to lead fully—without dimming.

And if you’re reading this and thinking, “This feels personal,” you’re right.

I’m writing it for you.
And I’m writing it for myself, too.

Fondly,
Monique

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The Gift of a Thoughtful Pause: A Holiday Reflection for Nonprofit Leaders

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

In my most recent reflection, I wrote about the art of experiential fundraising and how intentional design can transform an event from an evening into an experience. As we arrive at the close of the year, I’ve been thinking about something much quieter, but just as powerful:

The thoughtful pause.

The holidays often arrive with a familiar urgency—deadlines, year-end appeals, final reports, and a calendar filled with gatherings. Yet beneath the pace, this season also offers a rare invitation: a moment to step back, take a breath, and consider not just what we’ve done, but how we’ve moved through the year.

For those of us who lead, fundraise, and convene others, that pause is not a luxury. It’s part of the work.

The Space Between Events

In fundraising, we often focus on the visible moments—the gala, the luncheon, the campaign launch. But the health of a mission is sustained in the quiet spaces between those highlights: the handwritten note, the unexpected check-in, the board member who feels seen and valued even when there is no ask on the table.

The same is true in our own lives.

This time of year, a thoughtful pause might look like:

  • taking fifteen minutes to remember which conversations truly moved you this year,
  • acknowledging your team’s effort in ways that feel specific, not generic,
  • or simply sitting with a cup of something warm, allowing yourself to feel grateful and honest about the season you’ve just led.

These small acts are not separate from leadership—they are the ground from which meaningful leadership grows.

Presence as a Form of Generosity

In a season defined by giving, it is easy to measure generosity in gifts, goals, and totals raised. Yet some of the most impactful gifts we offer as leaders are far less visible:

  • the way we listen fully when someone needs to be heard,
  • the grace we extend when a colleague or volunteer is at capacity,
  • the courage to say “not this year” to something that would stretch our teams or ourselves beyond what is healthy.

Presence is a form of generosity.

When we are fully present—with our missions, our teams, our families, and ourselves—we model a kind of steadiness that invites others to exhale. We remind people that impact is not created by urgency alone; it is sustained by clarity and care.

A Gentle Question for the Year Ahead

In my event work, I often ask organizations, “What do we want people to remember—and why does it matter?”

As we approach a new year, I find a similar question helpful on a personal level:

How do I want to feel as I lead—and what needs to shift to make that possible?

Perhaps you want the coming year to feel:

  • more rooted in strategy and less driven by crisis,
  • more collaborative and less solitary,
  • more aligned with your values and less reactive to external pressure.

The thoughtful pause of this season is an opportunity to notice those longings without immediately turning them into resolutions or plans. Simply acknowledging them is a powerful first step.

A Final Reflection

We spend much of the year designing experiences that move others to believe in our missions. This holiday season, I hope you’ll allow yourself a moment that moves you—toward rest, toward clarity, and toward a renewed sense of purpose.

Events can raise dollars.
Experiences can raise belief.
But it is in these quiet, thoughtful pauses that we often remember why we chose this work in the first place.

Wishing you a season of gentle pause, meaningful connection, and just enough stillness to hear your own wisdom again.

With gratitude,
Monique

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Help Wanted — The Art of Asking (and Receiving)

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

Today on the Event Strategies for Success blog, our consulting partner Lynette Battle returns with a timely reflection for the fall season — “The Art of Asking (and Receiving) Help.”

The right kind of help can be the bridge between challenge and clarity — or the connection that carries us from uncertainty to confidence. Whether it comes through a trusted mentor, a thoughtful colleague, or a timely resource, help done well doesn’t just solve problems; it strengthens relationships.

Lynette reminds us that in nonprofit work — and in life — help is a beautiful thing, but clarity matters. Read more to explore how to reach out, ask with intention, and receive with grace when the moment calls.

Dear Colleagues,

Working in nonprofit spaces teaches you a lot about the art of asking for help. It’s part of the territory. Whether it’s for volunteers, donations, partnerships, or a last-minute save at an event — calls for help are constant. And like many of you, when I feel compelled, I show up. No fanfare, no strings. I roll up my sleeves and get to work. That’s just who I am. And I know I’m not alone.

Most people who step up to help do so from a place of genuine spirit. When they feel called, they answer — bringing with them their time, talent, and whatever resources they can muster. It’s one of the most beautiful things about humanity: when the spirit moves, we move.

But there’s an important lesson, one that bears repeating for anyone — especially those in leadership roles:
When you ask for help, be clear about what help looks like.

Too often, someone responds to a call for help with everything they have — only to be met with disappointment, frustration, or even blame because it wasn’t “the right kind” of help.  Maybe they donated time when you wanted money. Maybe they offered advice when you wanted action. Maybe they showed up differently than you envisioned.

Here’s the hard truth:
If you don’t define the ask clearly, you can’t fault someone for how they show up.

This isn’t just a nonprofit thing — it’s a life thing. In business, in friendship, in everyday moments — clarity matters. When help is vague, expectations go unmet. And when people who genuinely want to support feel criticized, it doesn’t just sting — it sticks. Some may walk away defeated, others angry, and sadly, some may decide not to step up again at all.

So, if you’re making the call:

  • Be specific about what you need.
  • Be clear about the deliverable.
  • Be honest about the timeline.
  • And be gracious, even if what someone offers looks different than you envisioned.

Because sometimes, the best help isn’t exactly what you imagined — but it’s exactly what you needed.

Help is a gift. Treat it like one. And when you ask, honor the hands that are willing to reach out and lift you up.

To download this infographic, please click below.

Infographic – The Art of Asking for Help v 3Download

Tips to Master the Art of Asking for Help

(1) Be Specific with Your Ask

Vagueness is the enemy of progress. Saying “I need help with my event” is too broad. Say instead: “I’m looking for someone to help manage registration from 10 AM to 12 PM. Can you take that on?”

Why it matters:
People are more likely to say yes when they know exactly what’s needed.

(2) Be Honest About What You Really Need

Are you looking for time, money, a skill, a connection, or simply a listening ear? Don’t sugarcoat the ask. “I need someone to review this grant with me — not just moral support, but actual line-by-line edits.”

Why it matters:
Misalignment between what’s asked and what’s delivered can lead to tension or disappointment.

(3) Understand Capacity Before Assuming Capability

Not everyone who wants to help can help in the way you envision. Ask with flexibility and empathy. “If you don’t have time to volunteer, would you be open to making an introduction to someone else?”

Why it matters:
You honor the relationship and expand your network at the same time.

(4) Say What Help Isn’t

Sometimes it’s just as helpful to say, “I don’t need you to donate — I need you to repost this campaign,” or “I’m not looking for advice, just a listening ear.”

Why it matters:
It keeps everyone on the same page and avoids well-meaning but unhelpful actions.

(5) Don’t Micromanage Generosity

If someone shows up in good faith, receive their help with grace — even if it’s not exactly your way. If it’s off-track, redirect kindly and early. “Thank you so much — this is great. Would you mind adjusting XYZ to better align with what we’re aiming for?”

Why it matters:
How you treat people after they say yes determines if they’ll say yes again.

(6) Express Gratitude Publicly and Privately

Whether someone helped a little or a lot — recognize it. Send the thank you. Tag them in the post. Mention their name in the room.

Why it matters:
Appreciation builds a culture where people feel safe and want to help again.

(7) Reflect Before You Request Again

After each ask, take time to reflect: Was I clear? Did I respect people’s time? Did I accept help with humility? This builds your reputation as someone who leads with integrity.

Why it matters:
Sustainable support is built on trust and clarity, not just urgency.

Please remember, we are here to support you on your fundraising journey. Also please download the infographic and keep it handy! Here’s to your success!

In Community,
Lynette Battle

Posted on

From Awareness to Action: The Continuing Challenge of Breast Cancer in Our Communities

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

Every October, the pink ribbons appear — a visual impetus to remember, reflect, and recommit. But awareness is only the beginning. Behind every symbol lies critical work: the research, the innovation, the clinical trials, the accessible treatment pathways.

Why It Matters — Beyond Awareness

  • In the U.S. in 2025, ACS estimates there will be approximately 316,950 new cases of invasive breast cancer in women, plus another 59,080 cases of ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS). American Cancer Society
  • Sadly, an estimated 42,170 women are expected to die from breast cancer this year. American Cancer Society
  • While incidence has been rising — about 1% per year in the last decade — death rates have declined (thanks in part to early detection and better therapies). PubMed
  • Still, disparities persist. For example, Black women face higher mortality rates at every age group, often due to late diagnosis or limited access to care. American Cancer Society

These numbers are not just statistics. They are lived stories — of families and communities, especially in historically underserved neighborhoods across NYC.

The Role of Research & Treatment Innovation

Research is what turns hope into results — and it depends on sustained investment. Here are some of the levers:

  • The ACS currently funds scientists across the country for breast cancer research, supporting basic science, translational work, and clinical trials. American Cancer Society
  • In 2023, ACS’s allocation to treatment research (extramural) reached over $56 million — that’s investment into therapies, protocols, and improved patient care. American Cancer Society
  • On the state side, the Wadsworth Center (NYS DOH) includes breast cancer research in its extramural funding programs. Wadsworth Center
  • Local NYC cancer centers are not only treating but driving clinical trials and research:
    • Herbert Irving Comprehensive Cancer Center has programs focused on breast cancer and benefits from significant NIH funding. Wikipedia
    • Montefiore Einstein runs hundreds of trials and research programs throughout NYC. Montefiore Einstein
    • The Tisch Cancer Institute’s outreach spans all five boroughs, connecting community, data, and research. Icahn School of Medicine

These institutions create the pipeline from discovery to healing — from lab bench to bedside. But they need both public and philanthropic support to scale and sustain their work.

What We Can Do — Together

  1. Raise mindful awareness — not just symbolic, but informed. Share credible data, highlight disparities, uplift local institutions.
  2. Support organizations strategically — ACS, local cancer foundations (e.g. Cancer Research & Treatment Fund in NYC) CR&T, or cancer centers with strong clinical trial arms.
  3. Advocate for equitable access — especially in communities where screening, early detection, and treatment are less accessible.
  4. Center lived experience — elevate the voices of survivors, caregivers, and communities, especially those historically marginalized.
  5. Encourage public policy that sustains funding — cutbacks to agencies like the National Cancer Institute can jeopardize innovation progress. (For instance, a proposed FY2026 budget outlined significant reductions to NCI funding.) ACS CAN

Final Reflection

Awareness without action is incomplete. In October and beyond, let us use our platforms — our networks, our influence, our storytelling — to stand beside those who fight this disease every day. To advocate that discovery, access, and equity matter. And to ensure that no ribbon remains a symbol without substance.

With deep gratitude and commitment,

Monique 

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