My Parents Would Be Proud

Earlier today, I listened to Dov Khenin, a left wing Israeli activist, insist that, in the midst of the current violence and conflict, there is opportunity.  He described his efforts to join Arabs and Israeli Jews who are equally troubled by poor or absent housing in their neighborhoods.  No matter how the local people differ on religious, cultural, and ideological issues, he argues, they can agree to fight gentrification together.  And he hopes that out of that common, local bond, a larger movement might be built. 

I well know the near impossibility of leaping from small, local protests to large scale movements, but I couldn’t help but thrill to the effort to build on the sparks of common ground.  

My parents passed onto me a faith and an enthusiasm in political movements and, to an extent, a contempt for small scale “charity,” which might take the edge off poverty but never comes close to changing the underlying conditions that lead to the oppression of the dispossessed.   

To my detriment, I took them too literally—and somehow undervalued the many local organizations they joined and led.  For much of my life I have felt defeated by their insistence that nothing less than major economic and political change would make a difference.  My entire professional life has been dedicated to helping individuals, groups, and (nonprofit) organizations improve their lot, yet I’ve almost always felt that I’m not doing enough.  As a result, I have felt only moderately fulfilled in my work, no matter how well done.

Then, in 2006, came the Institute for Nonprofit Practice (INP), a set of leadership training programs that, over time, began to feel like a spear in the larger movement for diversity and social justice.  I’d like to describe how it grew and, with its growth, how I began to feel much more in the flow of redemptive social change.

I had been consulting with a good number of nonprofits with only modest success.  Their leaders were filled with passion and, often enough, with innate ability, but lacked sufficient training in strategy, finance, and fundraising, confidence in their ability to work with foundations and business people, and connections to their compatriots to fulfill the promise of their cause. 

At the same time, baby boomers were in the process of retiring.  Cities were on the verge of becoming minority-majority.  Nonprofit leadership in communities of color, especially in larger organizations, remained mostly White, especially in the larger nonprofits.  . 

In other words, there was a need—for training and network building—an opportunity—the openings created by boomer retirements—and an ethical imperative—that people of color lead organizations in their own communities.  If I could build a good leadership training program, demographics would be my partner.  

So I started the INP on my own dime, operating at almost no cost by continuing to earn a living in my consulting practice.  I asked friends to refer students.  They did.  We had an initial class of 12.  More than half were people of color; and the faculty member who I hired was an experienced Black CEO. This initial group, enthusiastic about the learning and the mission, became our ambassadors.  More than I, they recruited the second year’s class of 30.  And this kind of exponential growth continued, year after year.  Soon we could raise money from local foundations.  One foundation suggested we open a branch in Lowell and Lawrence.  Another on Cape Cod.  With their help, we did.  By our third year, we won a prestigious award for our work.  We were now on the map in the Boston area.  Not yet a movement but feeling the wind at our back.

Throughout, we stayed true to our goal of creating a diverse, skilled cadre of nonprofit leaders, who would lead an increasingly effective workforce.  Our diverse faculty and student body exemplified our values.  For me, the greatest gift, aside from teaching my students, was being able to speak, every day, a language of social justice. 

At graduation, one year, Hubie Jones, one of Boston’s most respected Black leaders, stopped his talk to ask: “Barry, what’s in this for you—personally?”  With only a touch of irony, I said: “My parents would be proud.”  Hubie nodded his head.  He understood.  At this late age, I had begun to live a professional life that was fully aligned with my values.  I began to feel the first inkling of helping to build an important movement for social change.

By then I was 74 and knew that I needed to find a successor, someone who was even more qualified than I to build the INP.  So I handed the INP’s leadership to a former student, an immensely talented young woman of color who shared my values and, maybe more importantly, understood our mission to build a movement.  Her name is Yolanda Coentro. 

As Yolanda and I had planned, we opened in Rhode Island, then New York City, knowing that adding the Big Apple would announce our national ambitions.  As I write, the INP is on the verge of opening programs in several additoinal cities on the mid west and the west coast. They are adding complementary programs, such as a National Black Leadership Institute, a Board training program, a consulting program focused on teaching nonprofit leaders how to develop greater depth of diversity, equity, and a sense of belonging in their organizations. 

Yolanda’s leadership has been recognized by a number of national organizations.  And the fundamentals of organizational growth—financial and data systems, for example, and most importantly, excellent new staff members, lured by the promise of the INP—and now set to match the INP’s ambitions.  Since readiness is all when it comes to change and growth, we had reached an inflection point. 

And just as we had readied ourselves, the Black Lives Matter movement served as an accelerant.  It dramatically highlighted the need for greater diversity and equity in American life.  The INP had been building nonprofit leadership capacity as though we had anticipated that movement.  We had become an outlet and a vehicle to build on the pent-up desire of young leaders to realize the movement’s goals in education, housing, economic development and many other arenas. 

At this particular moment in history, the INP’s combination of practical and moral focus and its potential to gather such an immense and influential community—thousands of alumni leading thousands of nonprofits, which employ hundreds of thousands of employees—has become increasingly appealing to progressive funders.  It’s an almost perfect vehicle to realize their philanthropic ends.  The more the INP does, the more support it receives.  The more support it receives, the more it can do.  A virtuous cycle is in motion. 

Of course, the INP isn’t alone.  Many other organizations have reshaped their programs to feature social justice, equity, and diversity.  That’s the point.  We are one among many who share missions.  I suspect that all of them – or at least most of the good ones – are currently experiencing comparable cycles.  It’s like being swept along by a wave, and the wave is the current zeitgeist. 

And with that wave, it becomes possible, without arrogance or self-deception, to begin talking about movement building.  That is the aspiration.  You can see the mood lifting among the staff, among the organizations that INP supports, and among the funders.  You see it in the classrooms and in the exuberant celebrations at graduation. 

At this point, I am no longer a central player in the INP.  I advise a little and participate on the board of directors.  I’m mostly a cheerleader.  But I’m getting closer to reporting back to my parents – letting them know that I’m part of a movement now too.  They believed that things could get better, and they brought me to huge, May Day, anti-nuclear, and civil rights marches to bring me into the community of believers.  They reveled in being among the throngs of strangers who shared their beliefs.  And I have been a believer that we can shape our society according to our values.

But, when it comes to method, I’m probably more like Dov Khenin.  I have loved the familiarity and accessibility of the local, working across communities and within neighborhoods. I like coming to know my compatriots more intimately than you can in a demonstration.  I have  liked building up to a social movement. 

My parents and I have taken different paths to our goals, but I know that they would reassure me.  I can hear them as though they are speaking to me, saying: “That’s ok, so long as we’re moving forward.” 

How I See Freedom Now

Last weekend, Franny and I were walking along a trail in the Minuteman National Park in Lexington.  The day was warm but not too warm.  There was a lovely breeze and the sun often slipped behind clouds long enough to cool us off.  We were talking about my efforts to persuade a friend to join an independent living facility nearby.  That way, all, or almost all, of his needs would be taken care of.  He could be carefree and safe.

I realized soon enough that I might have been talking about myself.  Our conversation felt like a confession, a revelation of a secret life. I  had long imagined old age as a time of ease and freedom.  With retirement and adult, well-situated children, there would be few responsibilities.  Having lived out my professional life, I would be free of both ambition and regrets for not having done more or differently.  Children, grandchildren, and friends would visit. I’d read for hours and stroll…walks for pleasure, not exercise.  I’d even be done with working at being healthy. At last, I could eat and drink all I wanted.  I’d watch TV without guilt and eat as I pleased.  It was like an adult version of “the Big Rock Candy Mountain.” After a long life of being a good citizen, it was my due.  I had earned it.

Have I really?  The truth is that for most of every day and year, I have never believed that the world owed me anything or that I had earned very much.  But I had to admit that the yearning to be utterly free has been speaking louder to me as I approach 80 years of age.

It’s a nice fantasy, but not much more.  I still feel responsible for and to Franny and to my children and grandchildren.  I have volunteer work obligations that I’ve established, not for financial or professional gain, but for the pleasure of it, of my free will.  Because I like to be useful.  I can’t eat and drink “what I damn please” as I had imagined…not if I want to sustain my health and bodily comfort. In my free-wheeling days, which have been most of my life, I ate and drank like a longshoreman.  No more.  I can’t take off on wilderness treks or even long walks on well tended trails — feeling the wind at my back and the sun on my face — because my legs would object.  It’s clear: I will have to discover new ways to conceive of, and act on, my freedom.

I believe that the desire to be free, or freer, is baked into our character.  In various ways, it is thematic at every stage of our lives.  As children, we test our independence and stretch the tether that binds us to our parents.  In adolescence and early adulthood, we shrug off parental and other adult control.  Many of us partner up for love and belonging, yet simultaneously, we chafe at the loss of our independence.  We love our children but they also make us feel roped in.  We wonder if this is all there is to life; we acknowledge those vague urges to spread our wings in flight. 

And, of course, the quest for personal freedoms is a dominant theme in our politic discourse.  Ever since the Enlightenment in the 17^th and 18^th century, Europeans and Americans have called out for freedom from tyranny and from want…have championed freedom of speech and freedom of religion.  Since the 1960’s, we hear more about the freedom to be authentic individuals —  true to our desires and our values, true to the whole of our inner selves — no matter how others view or judge us.  We want freedom from constraints and we want freedom to act on our desires.

But most of the time, we know that freedom must be balanced by discipline and restraint.  Think of friendships and families: You build the right to be free by being trustworthy, dependable.  By doing your part. Those of us who are parents are explicit about this in raising our children, who must prove to us that they are trustworthy, before we let them cross streets by themselves, spend their allowance, and make decisions about their education. 

We see a similar balancing of freedom and control in couples.  After our romantic beginnings, we watch each other closely to determine if our spouses are loyal and don’t wander too far, if they pull their weight around the house, if they are respectful and kind, if they pay attention to us.

And we see this in communities as well. The Enlightenment philosophers, Locke, Hume, and Rousseau, called this our social contract.  People earn their freedom –- to speak their minds, behave eccentrically, believe in their particular diety — through supporting the common good.  They are free so long as they pay their taxes, drive their cars at reasonable speeds, keep their properties well enough tended.  The parameters for this social quid pro quo are not always so clear, but we know they exist and exert their pull.

This need for restraint isn’t just an idea, borne of careful consideration.  It’s also a natural phenomenon – as “baked in” as the desire for freedom.  Just as we strive for freedom, we yearn to be held, loved, instructed.  We yearn to live in a dependable world, where people stop at traffic signs, educate their children, isolate themselves when ill, shovel the sidewalks…where the impulse to be good neighbors is as strong as the impulse to “do our own thing.”

It’s this balance that sustains the most promising and enduring societies.  Perhaps it is best represented by the interplay among our three foundational documents — the Constitution (with the later addition of the Bill of Rights) and the Declaration of Independence.  The Constitutions sets forth the rules of the game, the laws that insist that we limit our impulses and our personal needs.  The Declaration and the Bill of Rights emphasize our “self evident” rights as free people.  None of these documents, alone, would protect us and guarantee our freedom.

Rarely do these two forces attain equilibrium in our national discourse, or even in our families and communities. At times the zeitgeist reflects the yearning for freedom.  At times, the rule of law and a culture of dependability and stability seem to dominate. And sometimes, because so much of the “action” is at the poles of this continuum, extreme instability ensues. It takes great skill, courage, commitment, and humility to bring such teetering relationships back into balance. 

So how does all this pertain to me, on nearing 80?  I fear that the conception of freedom that I’ve been entertaining in my old age has taken over a good part of our national culture.  Too many of us seem to think that we should pursue our own desire for freedom without a commitment to our neighbors, our communities, and our national ideals.  Freedom to wear masks or not.  Freedom to carry guns.  Freedom to drink to inebriation in public places,  Freedom to speak absolutely anything that is on our mind, no matter how dangerous or slanderous.

I am troubled by “cancel culture,” which shuts down oppositional voices so that our own can “freely” prevail.  I fear that identity politics, which emphasizes the freedom of each and every group, does not exercise sufficient discipline to shape its own message to fit better with the message of other, potential allies. Rather we undercut our companion travelers.  In a society where many are truly oppressed, a little less freedom for each of us might help our collective cause.

I am a little surprised to hear myself make these points.  I’ve always seen myself as a free spirit, untroubled and unconstrained by convention.  But for the most part, I have played out my independence with discipline.  This is true when I’m alone, writing or exercising, or meditating.  It is also true with family and friends.  I don’t utter every thought that comes into my head.  I’m strategic.  I make decisions about what I should say and when I should say it, to whom and when.  As a parent, clinician, coach, and mentor, I generally make disciplined decisions that are meant to create the best outcomes for those individuals and for our relationships.  And, hard as it is given my passionate nature, I try to keep my political opinions within bounds. 

Having revealed my dreams of a perfectly easy old age, however unrealistic, I don’t feel like chastising myself.  I feel like chuckling.  Dreams like that will always be my companions, but I know that they will have to share the bus with others.