"It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succor of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till."
Content marketing and brand journalism differ in approach.
The first begins and stays with a charity's mission and mindset. Its programs and fundraising goals and the best way to share these priorities with interested audiences are always top of mind. While this type of marketing may deliver relevant and useful content, it does not always move people closer to the cause.
While traditional journalism aims to be entirely objective, brand journalism does not. It has an objective. It’s trying to tell a story that builds the charity's brand and attracts relevant audiences. Brand journalism is much more interested in the effect upon audiences. It wants to tell a good story over providing useful content alone. It seeks to inspire and to lodge itself in the minds and hearts of readers and/or viewers.
By the charity not advertising itself, readers do the marketing and advertising for them. They share the content with their friends and family, leading to word of mouth (WOM) and increased interest.
The last 17-year-old to lead a major army was Joan of Arc. Today we see an army of 167-year-olds leading a nation. The generation of Americans born after 1999 just defined itself. March for Our Lives is its first major statement. These young people also presented a fearless and crackling new way to protest with extraordinary inclusiveness even if with an awareness of the socioeconomic privilege that allows certain voices to be suddenly heard louder than others that have been sounding through the years. Still, it was Yolanda Renee King, the nine-year-old granddaughter of Martin Luther King, Jr., and Coretta Scott King, that brought to this gathering and to the world one of the day's most memorable statements (“I have a dream that enough is enough, and that this should be a gun-free world.”), and a defining call-and-response challenge: Call: Spread the word; Response: All across the nation - We are - Going to be- A great generation.
Let's do what we can to make that challenge a reality.
Cisco's Visual Network Index: Forecast and Methodology 2016-2021 is something to take in small doses. It's packed full and densely with information about the ascendance of video.
Online video is already pervasive. 2018 will be a pivotal year in this space. AI will offer people more personalized video experiences. Content quality and immersive technology will continue to improve. We can expect more user-generated content and own-the-spot reporting. Video production, editing, and repurposing will become more accessible.
Every cause needs to pay attention. This is where your donors and advocates are and/or going.
Through the years very very few music videos have inspired me no matter how many times I watch them. These five below are moving for many reasons, but the primary reason is that there are no celebrities here selling. Even the Beyonce song is for the United Nations and the music video is mostly of anonymous people doing great things. It’s the authenticity of the singers vs perfection that will win everyone over.
Beyonce – I was here
Anonymous — I am Malala (these gifted singers do not identify themselves, which is part of the appeal just months after Malala was shot in the head by an assassin)
Paying for Change — It’s a Wonderful World
Erik Whitacre — his first Virtual Choir in 2010. He has “composed” several more since then, each involving many hundreds more voices at a time. Each person from around the world contributed a voice file that Erik put together into the music video.
Missing People Choir — that’s their first utterly devastating (in its unbearable simplicity) video created for the UK charity by the same name. Here they are several years later on "Britain’s Got Talent".
The common thing about this video and the others above is that we are brought up close to the experiences and faces of REAL people, not celebrities. Authenticity more than talent.
If you get a chance to watch the Missing People Choir, imagine the unfathomable heartache of each singer. Suddenly the music has very little to do with what is making you cry, though the music is all the more transforming because the amateur singers are trying so hard to get it right. The more weathered the face, the more you cry out with them and never never ever want to know their pain.
It’s nearly impossible to achieve what these videos achieve. But the closer we get to real feelings, real words, real faces, and the further away we get from mere “performance”, you’ll be closer to what your cause needs to honor your mission.
Charity Spring praises the small charity. The Gift of the Magi is a short story written by O. Henry in 1905 about true gift-giving, about sacrificial and unconditional giving. It is a lesson brought to us by way of the most poor and obscure teachers. The conclusion to this short story sums up everything there is to say about the value of the small charity valiantly trying to meet the needs of its neighbors.
Here is O. Henry’s timeless commentary on philanthropy:
The magi, as you know, were wise men–wonderfully wise men–who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
Discipline makes the significant breakthroughs in our fundraising possible. Most of a charity's advancement takes place in the daily effort of planning, research, writing, implementing, and above all else strengthening relationships. Resisting leads to quitting. Never have I met a ditch digger who said, "I’m just not feeling the ditch today, the ditch muse is not with me, I have to put my shovel down now." So it goes with fundraising, all day and evening long. Occasionally we're called upon to produce or perform a work of art that transforms a cause, but in the meantime boredom more than bad board behavior is what burns us out. The challenge is in keeping the daily work full of wonder and possibility. Being in regular and personal touch with your donors and with your charity's beneficiaries helps.
It's the best time to be a fundraiser. Every cause has the tools to make itself known and to build a community of fans in this networked age.
However, as you try to shift your focus from start-up to sustainability, no matter how many years your cause has been in start-up mode, there is no absolute paradigm for mapping the business model you need for the future. This forces you to be creative and your donors to be willing.
What remains consistent is your commitment to your mission and the quality of your brand, a charity your donors can trust.
How can you be an expert in a changing world? How can you discern what is useful and what are obsolete ideas from an earlier version of the world?
Venture capitalists will tell you that many really good start-up ideas look like bad ideas at first. Change that matters usually comes form an unforeseen quarter. The best strategy is to simply be aggressively open-minded.
You do need a development plan, mostly because it's there to motivate you. But you must be disciplined about not letting your hypotheses harden into anything more than elements of your flexible planning.
Include select donors among the people with whom you exchange ideas. Good ideas come from earnest, energetic, independent-minded people with no agenda -- all mission. Change is accelerating. Ideas beget ideas.
Like living bones, much of what could be examined here will remain invisible. But the fire of some memories will be extinguished in these posts. These memories spring from charity, not philanthropy.
Charity is up-close and personal; it seeks to meet the needs of others by first trying to understand their suffering. Philanthropy is the big-picture cousin of charity, the difference between Andrew Carnegie and Mother Teresa.
My journey began by combining direct service with fundraising while working directly with the founders of Covenant House and then AmeriCares during the early years of each of these organizations.
Returning quickly from a crisis to a donor’s home or a CEO’s office made for unscripted, insistent fundraising.
We didn't even call it fundraising; it was as straightforward as our cause (the faces of people we just left) needing money and unabashedly going after it.
Only by risking going too far did we ever discover how far we could go to bring help and hope. If your cause is "small," you know the feeling.
We pushed hard and went far. No one ever thought to take credit, to keep score. Meeting the budget was everyone's responsibility. It was all for one, one for all -- and all for the benefit of the people we were trying to help.
Here are a few among many memories through the years that still haunt. If I am a bit too forceful in my commentary here and in comment streams elsewhere such as Nonprofit Quarterly, it's because the work we do is personal and the stakes are often very high.
I was in Times Square in 1981, where Covenant House initially cared for homeless youth during the days when pimps and drug dealers ruled those streets. Then it was a few years later in the Khyber Pass, that oldest of mountain passes connecting Afghanistan, Pakistan and India that through the ages saw so much bloodshed, eventually by the Russians, which is when AmeriCares delivered doctors and humanitarian supplies to Afghan refugees. Then it was off to Sudan to bring relief to the displaced victims of the 1985 Ethiopian famine -- and then on to many more wars, famines and natural and man-made disasters.
Stories speed understanding and these stories for me are as fiercely remembered as a tattooist's needle and as hued as the inks that stain the body. It's the chance encounter and silent exchange that brings forth the full tide and fever of memory.
I was new and earnest as I watched Times Square waking up for another Saturday. I was looking for a kid in trouble. There to encourage homeless youngsters to leave the streets, the 16-year-old Pascale I was looking for instead chose to help me. He left Covenant House after only one night of shelter. When I found him, he generously stepped over an invisible threshold where his troubles, though they were many and had not gone away, stopped and waited. "I am not going back. This block is my home. But look, man, you need to watch yourself and everyone else. You're in another world here. Don't stare. Be cool," Pascale said. "Look up and ahead, never down. Keep your hands out of your pockets." People with quick eyes and dark clothes passed us. We stood there, apart and together. "Three star, three star," a man said hawking cocaine. "Methadone 60, 80," said another, advertising synthetic heroin. A man in a doorway as dark as a crypt with his hair in dreadlocks silently held out two hypodermic needles in a wrapper. Hell flew at me in that minute, a kind of knowledge beyond any way of knowing. Grief affirms those we lost. The many people I could not help through those years stand like trees in my memory, scared and burnt.
Startled, I stopped and stared. The Afghan girl in the field hospital whose right leg was an infected stump stared back at me (the Russians disguised bombs as toys). Hers was not a look of pleading or of even being in pain, but rather of her just saying to me, "There is nothing either one of us can do." I was enclosed in my own voice calling out in that silent moment. She covered me with her light.
The Ethiopian mother stood with her infant daughter as light as a whisper in her arms who would be dead within hours, if not minutes. I was walking through her refugee camp in Sudan after consigning a planeload of medical supplies to the NGOs at work there. Our eyes met. She was slight as a watercolor, a mere gesture of features. Hers was not a look of blame or anger; but rather of her saying to me, "This is my daughter, I love her infinitely more than myself, but neither one of us can save her." We sometimes see as if from a great distance and out of time.
There was the Croatian War of Independence. While delivering a planeload of humanitarian supplies to Zagreb in May 1995, sirens sounding an artillery attack compelled my driver to have us duck into the basement of a random apartment house. There we all were, sitting and standing there, young and old, looking at each other wordlessly by candlelight. There is a light that includes darkness.
These and so many charities and fundraising campaigns later, I bring those and many other faces with me to the work, to Charity Spring. These are the faces I see when I am tempted to advertise myself to you as anything other than a co-equal in our journey together to help who, where and whenever we can.