The Hollow Prize For Leaders Of Color

by CHANDA CAUSER.

I had just been handed the keys to a shiny, red sports car and could not wait to get in the driver’s seat. It was my dream role, the executive director of a national advocacy organization. I was excited about all the possibilities. I was ready to drive.

Or so I thought. I had worked for many different types of organizations, made significant impacts (and some mistakes), and I understood what it takes to lead a team and execute strategy. I had used the interview process to understand the state of the organization. There had been a lack of senior leadership, staff had been promoted into senior roles before they were ready, and funding infrastructure needed to be improved. But aside from the “normal” nonprofit challenges of relying solely on private philanthropy, the organization had been presented to me as a vehicle in good shape, beyond needing a tune-up.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I turned the key, eager to hear the thrum of the engine… there was no engine. There wasn’t anything. The shiny red car was an empty shell. Never in my 25 years in the field had I encountered an organization with so many problems.

For executives of color, nonprofit leadership is a ‘Hollow Prize.’

This was a more common story than I realized. In the 1960s, when many major American cities began electing Black mayors for the first time, expectations had been high. However, it became clear that these leaders faced increasingly intractable problems: As white residents fled to the suburbs, they took with them the wealth, tax base, and social capital that their communities needed to make progress. Political scientists coined the term “the Hollow Prize” for this doomed leadership.

In the years since the murder of George Floyd and the mainstreaming of Black Lives Matter, something similar has happened in social justice organizations that have dramatically increased the number of people of color (POC) in leadership positions. It can feel like the achievement of diversity, equity, inclusion, and symbolic reparation for years of racial injustice. But like the Hollow Prizes won by Black mayors, too many of these nonprofit leaders are inheriting organizations that simply aren’t set up to run effectively. And in the same way that white flight depleted cities of their resources and tax revenue, white nonprofit leaders are often handing off organizations with weak revenue streams, poor staff management, disorganized membership bases, and lack of evaluation, and—to top it off—they are taking funder relationships with them.

A New Form of White Flight

Leadership transitions are challenging in any organization, regardless of racial dynamics. But when leaders of color are tasked with fixing these problems, they are too often left with little to no cash (nor significant funder relationships) to help them do it. Research from the Building Movement Project’s Race to Lead initiative found that 63 percent of POC leaders cite a lack of access to individual donors as a fundraising challenge, compared to 49 percent of white leaders who say this is a challenge. Similarly, 51 percent of POC leaders cite lack of access to foundations as a challenge compared to 41 percent of white leaders.

In practice, this makes nonprofit executives of color more like “the help” than the leaders they could be. Many social justice nonprofits have long existed in states of extreme dysfunction. But when the (often white) leaders had funder relationships that could allow them to write their own checks, governing boards didn’t ask too many questions.

The kicker is that exiting white executives aren’t just leaving the social justice space for another economic sector or retiring; instead, as I have observed, they often join foundations, consulting firms, and other positions where they continue to use their influence and connections to sell back services to the very organizations they set up for failure in the first place. In a sense, if their old organization remains dependent on their connections (and thus their validation), has the white leader gone anywhere at all? It’s a new, nonprofit version of extractive white flight to the suburbs. Former white nonprofit leaders have ensconced themselves in an even more desirable position from which to “fix” the problems of the poor and oppressed with a different form of power.

We need BIPOC leadership.

Should BIPOC leaders actively avoid executive roles in white-led organizations for fear that we’ve won a Hollow Prize? For me, the answer is a clear no! If given a chance to lead, women, particularly women of color, must take every opportunity to impact social issues in our community. That goes for all types of organizations: nonprofit or for-profit. The country’s 33.2 million small businesses comprise 99 percent of all US employers, but of those, just 5 million (15.1 percent) are Hispanic-owned, just million (9.3 percent) are Black-owned, just 3.2 million (9.6 percent) are immigrant-owned, and just 12 million (36.1 percent) are women-owned. While precise data for nonprofits aren’t as readily available, the overall picture doesn’t appear to be much different.

Today’s nonprofit boards recognize the value of Black and brown leaders who understand dominant cultural norms, are adept at code-switching, and are outcomes-driven and eager for accountability. The problem arises when these boards need to turn around failing organizations, and they seek out exceptional Black and brown leaders who will “make it work,” even to exhaustion, as they seek to prove to themselves and the naysayers that they are capable. These leaders will be expected to jump through hoops—to perform, protect, nurture, and fix—things that were never expected of white leadership. Often, BIPOC leaders are driven by a desire to solve the issues plaguing their communities, which inadvertently causes inequity, as Black and brown leaders connected to their community are more willing to work through challenging situations. Their white counterparts of financial means often lack the lived experiences that make social issues feel less like a life-or-death situation for them.

Leaders who assume this type of risk possess an inalienable skill to do the impossible, but nonprofit leadership pays a fraction of a corporate salary, and pay inequity across racial backgrounds remains. Research from the National Women’s Law Center found that women of color earn less than 70 cents for every dollar earned by a white, non-Hispanic male. With that said, when BIPOC leaders receive a negotiated offer, it is likely the most money they have earned. Yet it is still likely to be inequitable for the amount of time they are willing to invest in the work.

How should governing boards move beyond performative change?

By the mere act of hiring a BIPOC executive, white-led governing board members and departing white executives may feel absolved of past racial challenges, regardless of whether their newly recruited BIPOC leader succeeds or fails. But for BIPOC leaders, failure is potentially soul-crushing. Leaders of color are community members, so the mission is deeply personal, and it is harder to have an “off switch.” Failure could mean damaging the very social fabric—the faith, grit, and community—that enabled a BIPOC leader to ascend to leadership in the social justice space.

Instead, governing board members must thoroughly audit their organization in partnership with departing white executives. Whether they realize it or not, they must perform that maintenance check on the car before selling it. By doing this, they will gain a critical understanding of what the incoming ED needs from them to execute future work thoroughly and successfully. Governing boards must construct an onboarding plan in partnership with the incoming BIPOC leader. If these governing boards are genuinely committed to racial equity in the leadership transition process, it must extend beyond the hiring phase and include scaffolded supports, like leadership coaching and professional development. All this is especially true for incoming leaders serving as first-time executives. In practice, nonprofits should professionalize the work and execute this level of investment across the board, if we genuinely want to bring about sustained change.

You are not the organization you lead.

After my hiring, I started giving my new organization the tune-up I thought it needed. The more I dug in, the more trouble I found. The details are mostly not important, but members of the governing board that hired me seemed unaware—perhaps had never considered—that they needed to be more plugged in to the overall vision and strategy for the organization, as well as direct fundraising work to secure the necessary resources. I also learned they had never been privy to the organization’s financials. I was incredibly shocked and dismayed at this revelation, given that it came just months after the board had offered me a salary and compensation package. How had they justified my offer without grounding in the organization’s financial reality?

It was becoming clear that I had been sold a lemon. I had to either exit or double down. Because I truly believe the organization’s mission is paramount and has unlimited potential, I decided to get to work and ultimately rebuild my car. “These problems are mine to fix. These problems are mine to fix. These problems are mine to fix,” began to play in my head repeatedly. But it never even occurred to me that the problems were not, in fact, mine to fix.

What I didn’t initially realize is that serving as an organization’s most senior employee does not make you the sole responsible officer. Instead, nonprofit leadership should always be a deep partnership with governing board members. The board left me alone to figure out how to fix the problems without understanding their role as fiduciary officers. In a strange and inappropriate role reversal, I had to coach and educate the board members to relieve myself of the responsibilities that preceded my tenure partially.

As leaders of color, how do we respond?

It has pained me to watch so many leaders traverse the same murky waters I have.

Because we need so many more BIPOC leaders rooted in the social justice community, my experiences have left me with five clear lessons I want to pass on to others:

1. Know what you’re getting into. The first step toward succeeding is knowing what you’re up against. When presented with the opportunity to lead, do extra due diligence during the hiring process. Seek candid conversations with those who might be able to provide “under the hood” insight about the organization. Scrutinize 990 tax filings, board rosters, and donor lists. Ask a friend or colleague—ideally someone entirely removed from the hiring process—to provide an objective assessment.

2. Strategize for the task at hand and get the resources and support you need for success. Once you understand the nature of this singular leadership challenge, design a strategy for transformational growth. Change management is an incredible skill, but often not part of nonprofit culture. As you uncover the problem, asset map your skills and those you will need an outside consultant to support. Several consulting firms serve nonprofits pro bono or for a minimum fee.

3. Understand that failure is an option. It may be difficult for us to accept the possibility of failure when only a few leaders of color occupy the top roles. Without examples of how to deal with challenges—including actual failure—we may develop a false belief that failure isn’t an option or that failing will destroy us. It won’t. I hope you succeed, but I also know you can survive failure. These are parts of the price of leadership, and I believe they’re worth paying. Turning around a failing organization is an incredible skill to develop. Winning or losing is worth an attempt.

4. Learn the difference between a vocation and a job, and set boundaries accordingly. A vocation is your identity, but while a job is a part of your identity, it is not the whole of who you are. The mindset shift from vocation to job doesn’t mean becoming less passionate but simply learning to center yourself first and the community second, which permits you to set boundaries. In my observations, many leaders pour themselves into their role, working 60+ hours a week, frantically checking email, traveling extensively, supporting junior staff beyond reason, and leaving very little for themselves and those they love. We may feel this type of high performance—part of our personality since childhood— makes us who we are. However, this personality trait can lead to rapid burnout in executive positions. Instead, viewing your role as a job will allow you to assess the work objectively, make recommendations to your governing board, and release yourself from carrying the whole burden of the organization’s success.

5. Do it anyway. Despite all my cautions, you should still step up to the challenge. We need dynamic leaders. You will be part of an audacious global shift as nonprofit leaders transform from decades of organizations run by leaders who do not represent the community they serve. It will be hard. Do it anyway—but with open eyes, a clear strategy, and firm boundaries.

Where do we go from here?

As mentioned above, many nonprofits have made moves to increase leadership diversity, which is good. However, when these changes are rooted in racist, performative, and voyeuristic values instead of community, membership, and leadership change management, nonprofits fail to fully achieve the true, transformative, and restorative impact that such a leadership transition could bring. All the while, the social fabric that undergirds our country—red or blue state, for-profit or nonprofit—remains significantly harder for POCs. We must do better.

To move forward personally, I had to reset my thinking and create a realistic benchmark for success. I had to understand that I could not fix the entire car, but I could decide what parts I could install and pass along to the next leader with greater transparency. It took a couple of exhausting, soul-crushing years, but I installed some parts of the car. There’s more work to do before it is ready for the highway speeds required to get where it should go. However, I now understand that I was only ever just leasing. The car never belonged to me, nor did its deferred maintenance, but I made a difference anyway, and one that ensures the next leader inherits more than just another hollow prize.

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See Original Article at Stanford Social Innovation Review