Lest We Forget

I try to keep my blog posts "on target," being at least somewhat related to philanthropy.

But I can't help but take note that 11-year old Jaheem Herrera, one of the boys who recently committed suicide after enduring months of anti-gay slurs and physical abuse at school, was buried on Tuesday.

Children solemnly filed into the church to say their last goodbyes. Jaheem's mother broke down in sobs as her only son was wheeled past her in a coffin. So sad.

So, we've lost another young life because of anti-gay bullying in schools. Jaheem Herrera. His name joins the list: Eric Mohat, Lee Simpson, and Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover. And who knows how many others?

My fear? Despite the growing media coverage, the issue won't be addressed. Before long, no more media coverage will be warranted. The numbers will grow to the point that this is no longer news. They'll just be a statistic. So sad.

I so totally relate to this story. I don't believe I've ever shared this with anyone, so you heard it here first. The only time I ever contemplated suicide, I was about 12, in the seventh grade, about a year older than Jaheem. For a couple months, a group of boys were taunting and harrassing me. "Gay" hadn't been invented yet; in the mid-60s, I was "homo." Not even really understanding its meaning -- neither me nor, in all probability, the attackers -- it was cause to threaten, punch, beat up, kick, trip, steal from, spit on, and publicly humilate.

I was writhing in agony. At night, in bed, I'd wrestle with what to do. I remember wishing that one of the attacks would result in my being hospitalized or even die. In my mind, I rehearsed how they'd find me, bloodied and unconscious or dead. "Then, they'll be sorry," I thought. Ending it all seemed a viable option, too, and more than once, I ran through in my mind's eye how I could do it. I know it sounds unreal and crazy now, but it was very real then. Thankfully, for whatever reasons, I never acted on the impulse. And I've never had suicidal thoughts since. But I do truly understand it.

Point is: Bullying is not some pre-adolescent phase or harmless hijinks. It hurts. It can kill.

Not to make too fine a link between the two, but the US House passed the Matthew Shepard Act yesterday. This hate crimes law is long overdue. Eventual passage by the Senate is expected handily -- though perhaps some months away -- and President Obama has assured us that it will be signed when it eventually reaches his desk.

Can all of this be related to philanthropy after all? Sure. Philanthropy is a Greek word whose origins literally mean “love for mankind.” Organizations arise to work on causes like this one, to promote the common good.

So, in the sadness of all this, I can point to the work of at least one organization working on the cause: The Trevor Project. This organization operates the only nationwide, around the clock crisis and suicide prevention helpline for LGBTQ youth. I invite you to learn about and support their work: www.thetrevorproject.org or call them at 866-488-7386.

The Power of Kids

Our desire to help children is genetically inbred; we are hard-wired to care about kids. The impulse is so strong that it even triggers concern far beyond what's rational. I was just watching a news report showing well-intended parents freaking out about the welfare of their child at school. By any reasonable measure, that child is quite safe, thank you.

Going to school today is probably as safe as it was a week ago, or a month ago, or six months ago. But try telling that to the parent! Pity the school administrator or principal who -- in the midst of the media frenzy about swine flu -- is not spending hours implementing precautionary plans for what is arguably not a very real threat in most places. This distracts attention away from teaching and learning, of course. Or, for that matter, making the school site safe from more present and real dangers. But those school officials have no choice for the moment but to drop everything and respond to parents' concern.

That's what got me to thinking about this: the power of kids as a motivator of behavior.

You're a Dad (or Mom). Your child is in imminent peril a few yards away. Would you run to help them? Of course.

Slightly different scenario. Now, in order to get to the child, you have to walk across a 12-inch wide piece of lumber board that straddles the gap. If you slip, you'll fall into a pool of water. Would you run to save the child? Of course.

Final scenario. Your child still needs saving. But now, in order to get to the child, you have to get across a tightrope, and you're 100 feet above the ground. Would you tip-toe across the rope to save your child? Still no hesitation. Yes.

People will do anything for kids. This motivator to action is more powerful than appealing to service of God, love of country, or even self-interest.

That's why so many direct response packages use child images. Given the power of this motivator, you've got to wonder why they aren't even more effective than they already are.

If your cause is in any way kids-related, it's up to you to tell your story so effectively that the reader or listener is impelled to "run across the tightrope" to rescue the child. If the reader or listener isn't motivated to do that, that's not their fault. It simply means you haven't told the story right. I don't mean you should bend it out of shape so as to whip up the type of hysteria we're seeing around swine flu. But take another crack at it. Tell your story better.

How I got into non-profit work (and a recommended read)

Cass Wheeler was the longtime Chief Executive Officer of the American Heart Association. He was with the AHA for more than 30 years -- 26 of them at the National Center -- and served as CEO for 11 years. He retired early this year.

All of that's on the public record. Less known is that Cass hired me into the American Heart Association in Texas, my first "non-profit" gig. Back in 1980 (which seems like eons ago but is only 28 years) he took a chance on a younger, 20-something kid with a background in marketing and PR. I was responsible for spreading the AHA message in 20 media markets in Texas. I learned lots about how to work with a "jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none" generalist staffing structure and eager volunteers organized in any Texas community large enough to have a Dairy Queen. He paid me peanuts! It was a great job.

Cass is quite a guy: personable and brimming with positive energy, he listens and supports and persuades. He is, in short, a very effective leader. Cass ensured that the American Heart Association saved lives by taking for-profit strategies and adopting them in the not-for-profit setting. That was a fairly radical concept at the time.

Of course, he's written a book. And it's a pretty darn good one. I don't think he had this ghost-written -- it has his voice throughout. And reading it brought back many episodes -- the good, the bad, and the just-plain ugly -- from my AHA stint.

I took that first AHA job thinking I'd be there a couple of years; I stayed with them for 21 years. AHA was always good to me, allowing me to stretch and grow. If there was more to be done than my job called for, they would encourage me to take on additional responsibility. It prepared me for each next step ... the move to California, helping to re-structure 18 separate corporate entities into one affiliate, switching from communications and planning to revenue development, learning to manage all of the programmatic enterprises, discovering how to work with volunteers and boards, and, ultimately, finding and loving major and planned gifts work.

My ability to teach and present to adults ... my understanding of complex systems ... my skill at coaching and mentoring staff -- all of these skills have their roots in the AHA, and I shall never forget that.

Back to Cass' book: In the for-profit world, success first and foremost means ... well, that you turn a profit. For organizations in our community benefit sector, however, the challenge is much different. To be successful, we must make money, yes, but for a larger purpose. So the key becomes finding and keeping your mission and purpose, creating your vision, and making it a reality.

Under his leadership, the AHA went from a pretty dis-organized organization (heading every which way at once) to what could be called the benchmark of a thriving nonprofit. He increased revenue from $400 million to $800 million, sure. But more importantly, he launched some incredibly innovative programs. The narrative in his book describes how they were conceived, planned, and executed.

Not all of the examples are from AHA, but he dwells mostly on some really stellar management and leadership principles that he's professed and lived by through the years. I learned a whole lot from him, both directly and indirectly, while at the AHA. Often, in consulting, a client will pose a question. The answer pops into my head, seemingly without thought or effort. And the client will wonder: "How do you know this stuff??" Well, in truth, I learned much of it right there as part of the heart association.

In You’ve Gotta Have Heart, Cass Wheeler displays how to move beyond theory and intention to actually get results. He riffs on mission, on finding and keeping the best staff, the importance of focus. And on how to stay relevant, and how to apply for-profit best practices in our sector.

Perhaps it's not the most thought-provoking book --there's no single, defining "aha" moment here (though I confess I might be too close to the content to judge this, and others might find it). But the book is filled with honesty that makes it a case study from Cass' fine career. It's practical. There's a lot of good stuff here. Leaders of community benefit organizations -- large and small: put this book on your reading list!

Hooray for the Hawkeye State, Where the Tall Corn Grows!

That's Iowa we're talkin' 'bout.

I am so proud of Iowa right now, where their Supreme Court just issued an unanimous ruling, holding that the state's same-sex marriage ban was unconstitutional. This brings a same-sex marriage victory to America's heartland. I am thrilled that equality has come to Iowa!

The justices drew explicit parallels to civil rights struggles by blacks and women, holding that the state's ban on same-sex marriage was a violation of the equality promised in the Iowa constitution. The fact that the discrimination is "traditional" doesn't cut it, otherwise "previous successful equal protection challenges of invidious racial and gender classifications would have failed," the court said in its ruling.

This ruling marks another watershed moment in the struggle for full equality. No longer will same-sex couples have their relationships treated as less than equal by the state of Iowa.

It's a very hope-filled sign of the times. My family has strong roots in Iowa; my mother was born and raised there. Though she and my father moved to far-off Chicago (!), we spent many summers and Christmas holidays there. I have a bunch of cousins, and second-cousins, and third-cousins there. It's the sort of family that started having an annual reunion in the 1940s and has convened every August since. We go back there every few years, even after all this time (30+ years) away from the Midwest.

Last summer, when my now-husband and I announced that we were getting married, I sent save-the-date announcements to all the cousins. After all, over the years, I've been invited to all their weddings and most of their children's weddings. But I confess I wasn't exactly sure what the reaction would be.

In retrospect, I never should have doubted. A bunch of my cousins started to organize a group vacation to celebrate the day (and to visit California's wine country, no doubt). Real life intervened, and most of them bailed, one-by-one, except for Leslie and his wife who flew in from Des Moines.

But the folks back in Iowa were poised for news, anxious to see pictures, generous with remembrances. I was moved.

Point is: most people "get it" about the link between civil rights and same-sex marriage, especially when they know someone who is open about who they are and the family they want to create. Many fair-minded Iowans — and fair-minded people across the country — will be celebrating with us. I know my Iowa cousins will be.