Nolo’s Fundraising Tips for Busy Nonprofits

I recently saw a fascinating play, "In the Wake," by Lisa Kron, at Berkeley Repertory Theater. It centers on a group of friends living in New York, post 9/11. One of the major themes is the characters' struggle to discover what assumptions are so ingrained in them that they can't even see how these affect their personal lives and political opinions.

For example, one character, July, who does international humanitarian work, shocks another (and the audience) by explaining that she never votes in U.S. elections. Her rationale turns out to be one of the most thought-provoking moments in the play: It's because she didn't grow up with the level of economic privilege that gives her friends a blind faith in their ability to effect societal progress. From her and her family's perspective, she has truly never seen voting make a difference.

The other blind spots explored by the play didn't seem as clear-cut or satisfying, at least after a single viewing (I haven't read the script). But the play has left me "seeing blind spots" everywhere I turn. And where better to ferret these out than in one's fundraising plan?

An example turned up in a book I read recently, called Effective Church Finances: Fund-Raising and Budgeting for Church Leaders, by Kennon L. Callahan (Jossey-Bass). Callahan says that many U.S. churches conduct their primary drive for member pledges in October -- despite the fact that, statistically speaking, October has been shown to be one of the most difficult months in which to raise money, as people pay off their summer vacation expenditures and parents cope with the expenses of the new school year.

Why October? It dates back to when our economy was based on agriculture, and farmers would have just brought in the autumn harvest. By now, probably few church fundraisers remember that fact -- while the need for an October pledge drive has become their particular blind spot.

Does your organization have its own blind spots? Asking questions like, "Why do we always do things this way?" is a good way to start finding out. Another way is to think of ways you can test your assumptions about what works. For example, let's say you've always sent four-page letters in your direct mail appeals to potential new donors. You can test the effectiveness of this strategy by dividing the mailing group in half and sending a two-page letter to some and a four-page letter to others. Then compare the results. If you're surprised, congratulations -- your vision just got closer to 20/20.

And now, for something completely different -- especially, but not exclusively, for fundraisers who happen to be Monty Python fans. If your brain is stocked with phrases like "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition" and "Nudge nudge, wink wink," and you occasionally experience an inexplicable craving for Wensleydale cheese, that means you.

Now, as part of your holiday weekend activities, I recommend turning on the telly -- well okay, YouTube -- for a review of the Merchant Banker/Charity sketch. In this lesser-known sketch, a somewhat hapless fundraiser (played by Terry Jones) who's collecting money for an orphans' fund, enters the office of a rich merchant banker (played by John Cleese). In fact, the merchant banker is not only rich, but describes himself as owning "the most startling quantifies of cash," and explains, " I'm very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very rich."

The fundraiser asks for a one-pound contribution. Cleese expresses multiple types of disbelief and confusion and . . . well, take a look, and then come back for the lessons to be learned from this sketch.

Lesson 1: Ask for an appropriate amount. The banker wasn't exactly showing signs of being a willing contributor, but even so, asking for a mere pound in this setting made the fundraiser and his cause appear insignificant. Beneath notice, even.

Lesson 2: Talk to the donor in language he or she can understand. As a businessman, this banker was all about quid pro quo. Even though the "quo" wasn't going to involve direct benefit (other than the little flag offered by the fundraiser, to which Cleese said, "It's a bit small for a share certificate isn't it? Look, I think I'd better run this over to our legal department"), the fundraiser should have been prepared to explain how the banker would benefit. He could have, for example, pointed out the the banker benefits personally from improving his own community, from the increased prestige of being known as a contributor, or whatever else.   

Lesson 3: Know a bit about the tax law. When Cleese, trying to understand the purpose of giving a pound, says, "A tax dodge," the fundraiser says, "No, no, no." I don't know about British tax law, but in this country, the answer would be, "Yes, because we're a 501(c)(3) organization, your gift will be fully deductible to the extent allowed by the law." Why the qualifiers at the end? Because you don't want to put yourself in the position of offering actual tax advice, the law in this area is complex, and whether the donor will reap tax benefits depends in part on his or her personal situation, for example on whether he or she itemizes deductions. For more information on this, see Nolo's free article, "Tax Deductions for Charitable Giving: The Nonprofit's Responsibilities."  

Lesson 4: A return gift won't seal the deal. The banker couldn't even tell what the little flag that the fundraiser offered was. And donors are becoming increasingly aware that a return gift from a charity diminishes the value of their contribution and, if it's worth more than a token amount, of their tax deduction. 

Lesson 5: Revel in the fact that you don't actually have to sell something. Toward the end of the sketch, after the fundraiser has assured Cleese that, "lots of people give me money," Cleese says, "What, just like that?" As the light dawns, Cleese exclaims, "Good lord! That's the most exciting new idea I've heard in years! It's so simple it's brilliant!" And indeed it is. Your nonprofit is in the enviable position of  offering an intangible good that will never break or be cast aside, but allow donors to themselves become part of a greater good. Use that to your advantage! Or, to use a final Monty Python quote, "Always look on the bright side of life."

 

I just came across the excellent and well-written report "Sweet Deals: School Fundraising Can Be Healthy and Profitable," by the Center for Science in the Public Interest (and authored by Joy Johanson and Margo G. Wootan).

Wow! It's a couple years old (2007), but given how many kids selling cookies and candies on behalf of their club, team, or school still cross my path, remains highly relevant. And the report doesn't pull any punches, making the case that, "Given rising obesity rates and children's poor diets (only 2% of American children eat a healthy diet), it is no longer acceptable to sell junk food to children through school fundraisers."

I would even take it a step further and say it's not acceptable to sell this stuff to anyone. Although adults are held more responsible for their actions, the statistics are equally dire: Around one third of the U.S. population is classified as not merely overweight, but obese. And the U.S. Centers for Disease Control says that obesity increases the risk of a whole host of health troubles, such as coronary heart disease, Type 2 diabetes, many cancers, hyptertension, high cholesterol, stroke, and so on.

Even people who keep their weight down can, through poor dietary habits, put themselves at risk for a number of diseases, such as cancer, bone loss, anemia, and more.

Having a child selling candy -- and candy for a good cause, no less -- is just an unfair way to tempt an already-unhealthy populace. There are alternatives, as the report describes -- granola bars, fruit, and non-food sales items. Hopefully with a little creativity, the nonprofit community will come up with even more healthy options.  

Usually I try to applaud fundraisers who are doing a great job, rather than point a finger at those who don't quite get it. It's tough being a fundraiser, and many come to the task with no training other than goodwill.

But more and more, the field of fundraising is full of high-quality, easily accessed information about how to do things right. And in some cases, those working at established organizations with good access to mentoring and training should know better by now! So why am I seeing misguided practices like the following?

1) Just got an email with the subject line, "Larger Donors We Need Matching Funds." Huh. Is this addressed to me? Just how large do I have to be to be considered a "larger donor?" Is it measured by weight or volume? (Yes, I know what they mean, but do the rest of the email recipients?) And if I already knew I was a "larger donor," would I appreciate being taken for granted in this manner, as if my history of large donations were just a tap to be turned on as needed? I doubt it. There's nothing about this subject line that makes me want to open the email.

2) Passing by a table near the front of my local Safeway recently, I noticed a stack of used books for sale, in support of a local charity. Good idea! But rotten execution. I've never seen a pile of books more in need of some culling. There was a guidebook to Seattle schools from the year 2001 -- and we're in Oakland. There were other reference books just old enough to be useless, but not old enough to be antiques. And the overall look of the books was cheap, cheap, cheap. At least they didn't have to worry about shoplifting. But, as is typical, I didn't want to paw through the pile any further in hopes of treasure. At a certain point -- and I say this with due reverence for books -- a few of them simply need to be recycled, just like with an old newspaper. Sales of used goods to the public are most successful when people can see a good proportion of quality among the junk.

3) I got yet another appeal letter from a certain national organization, despite having requested, several months ago in writing, that it stop sending me appeal letters. As I explained to them, I'd like to continue subscribing to their lovely magazine, but was annoyed by the fact that I could never tell from the letters whether my subscription was about to run out or whether this was just another appeal for money. The language of the letters seemed intentionally vague. Too bad, because I might have considered their side-appeals but for this annoyance factor. In any case, I called them and have supposedly been removed from the appeal-letter list. We'll see -- they haven't shown much efficiency around my separate requests to change my address (started off okay, then reverted to the old one!?).

Ok, that's all for now. Will presumably get back to acknowledging all the great work done by hard-working, creative, and committed fundraisers next week.   

As part of every nonprofit's efforts to connect and communicate with members and donors via every media possible, I've heard a lot of buzz about videos of late. Michael Stein, for example, who writes the blog Internet Strategy for the Nonprofit Sector, has described videos as "a great way to showcase your organization's mission and work," and "a growing trend in nonprofit communications." You can check out various tips for using video effectively on his blog. 

But then, wearing my other hat as a real estate writer/editor, I attended a NAREE conference recently during which top journalists from around the United States described their growing frustration with video: It takes away from their other responsibilities; even if you have spare time, filming, editing, and preparing the video takes up a heck of a lot of it; and in the end, very few readers click to watch.

(In one of those classic moments where you can't tell whether you're part of a representative majority or just hanging around with fellow Luddite outliers, I and other audience members leaned to each other with comments like, "Yeah, I never click videos either, they take too much time for too little substance.")

So, what gives? Is creating videos a worthy use of time for nonprofits but not for real estate writers? I doubt it. It's not as though the audience is completely different -- people who buy or sell homes also give to charity.

 Is this perhaps a situation that fits my in-laws' favorite maxim of, "If you're not going to do something well, don't do it at all?" This might be closer to the truth, given that anyone who's online is exposed to new video offerings, both serious and humorous, every few minutes. The novelty is wearing off, though I did laugh at the "4 Laughing Babies" one. Presumably the journalists I was hearing from weren't doing too badly at their video-making efforts, but they'd probably be among the first to say that being a good writer doesn't automatically make someone a good videographer.

Perhaps the most telling nugget of information came from Lauren Beale of the Los Angeles Times, who noted that, among the reporters she works with, the ones whose videos attract a significant audience are the ones who have natural camera appeal and know how to use humor. (No wonder I clicked on those laughing babies!) Everyone is looking for a watchable persona, and the lift and stimulation that humor provides.

But not everyone can do humor. And those who can't shouldn't necessarily try. We've all groaned at the efforts of someone who, trying to lighten up a speech or talk, opens it with a bad joke. Besides, we're talking now about creating videos that represent the work of charitable organizations, which isn't necessarily thigh-slapping material.

Is the inevitable conclusion, then, that unless you've got a natural comedian on your staff who can magically make oil spills and hungry people funny, give up on the video and retreat to the familiar territory of writing newsletter articles? I wouldn't go that far.

Let's think about the mental zone entered by someone who is able to create humor. It usually means the person isn't just cranking out content, but has let the topic enter his or her consciousness in a deeper way, to bring forth a unique personal perspective. What's more, the person cares enough about the audience to want to share the information with them in a way that's genuinely engaging.

That's something anyone making video can aspire to. To me, the takeaway lesson is, don't create videos indiscriminately. Create them if and when you've got a staff person -- or maybe a young intern -- who's really inspired about presenting the content. It will help to have some visual material that you feel like people just hafta see -- the very kind that you'd email a friend. If you make just a few compelling videos, you'll ultimately get a lot more eyeballs on them than with a slew of mediocre ones. (Uh oh, I guess my in-laws have the last word on this one after all.)  

Those were the words of Amazon founder and CEO Jeff Bezos, addressing the Princeton graduating class this year. A worthy sentiment to pass on in your organization's Twitter feed or Facebook page, perhaps?
Here's the Princeton press release, and the full text of the speech.

The June, 2010 issue of Kiplinger's Personal Finance magazine contained an intriguing statistic (among many stats about people's current thoughts concerning their financial situation):

Among parents age 35 to 44, the financial virtue they'd most like to pass on to their children was generosity! The 31% who chose that virtue were followed by 29% who chose thrift and 25% who chose business sense.

Doesn't that seem a mite counterintuitive, given today's tough times? Especially since the same survey found that 41% of this group said their financial situation was worse today than two years ago, with a majority of them "struggling." And it's a safe bet that this group has reduced its charitable giving, as has occurred pretty much across the board.

But maybe it's actually a matter of cause and effect, and these struggling parents want to make sure that their belt-tightening doesn't dampen their kids' sense of generosity.

If so, it raises an interesting question: How can the nonprofits of the world best help them -- and thus foster the next generation of donors?

The first thing that comes to mind is to think about kids and families when planning volunteer opportunities. I've observed many nonprofits treat young volunteers as an afterthought, or even an inconvenience, with little more welcome than a demand that they be accompanied by a person over the age of 18. How about creating a family day of volunteering with your group, or coordinate with schools for particular projects?

Another possibility is to address the matter of kids' awareness of charitable giving in your newsletters and website. I know of families that decide how much they'll give to charity, then involve the whole family in the decision of which charities to choose -- or even require the kids to set aside a portion of their allowance for the charity of their choice. You can educate and encourage parents about such possibilities.

While we're at it, for the kids who are actively engaged in choosing where to donate, could you create a separate kid-friendly Web page explaining where their donations go, and what a difference they make? You might think that your donation pages are already clear enough for anyone to understand, but look again -- many websites offer a confusing array of options, assuming a certain level of financial sophistication, with language like, "Please consider an unrestricted gift," or "tax deductible to the full extent allowed by law."

I'll start keeping my eyes open for charities that do a good job at this, and report back!

Is it my imagination, or was there a lot less regulation of bake sales when I was a kid?

I've been noodling around the Internet, and a surprising number of cities and counties -- from Albuquerque, New Mexico to Champaign-Urbana, Illinois to Lewiston, Maine -- require nonprofit groups (and others) to get a permit before holding a bake sale.

Not all areas charge for the permit, and the majority still let you go ahead without one. But even the no-permit areas are paying increasing attention to the health issues surrounding selling food to the public, and expect bake sales to comply. And I wouldn't want to be the group that makes the paper because of a "permit bust" or a Salmonella outbreak.

Who knew that the humble cream pie was such a villain? I'm seeing it over and over again, on everyone's "DO NOT SELL!" list even for groups that have a permit. Apparently all the milk and eggs make a lovely recipe for not only custard, but for bacterial growth when left outside a refrigerator.  

In the absence of any national rules, here's what I'd suggest if you're planning a bake sale:

1. Call your local health or food service department to find out the permit and any other rules. Follow them.
   
2. Take your own steps to avoid being the cause of health problems, such as reminding your bakers to be extra careful about cleanliness in the food prep process, wrapping or covering everything in plastic at the sale, and serving with tongs.
3. Ask bakers to create labels with full and accurate lists of ingredients, in case buyers have allergies. (Peanuts, wheat, and dairy are common concerns.)
   
4. Whatever you do, don't serve cream pies. Or pumpkin, or meringue.
   

How did we all survive childhood, I wonder?

This month's Audubon magazine (March/April 2010) contains a column by Ted Williams that should give pause to any group that buys stock wildlife photos for its calendars, newsletters, annual reports, and so forth. (And it's not just the environmental groups that do so -- on my refrigerator is a calendar for an organization that supports childrens' health, with a photo of a different bird every month).

His column, the regular installment of "Incite," describes a disturbing trend in which wildlife photographers, finding it increasingly tough or expensive to travel to faraway places to snap their shots, all too often pay a game farm for the privilege of photographing captive animals -- and then sell the photos without disclosing this fact, to media, nonprofits, and others.

What's the problem, one might ask, if a nice photo supports a good cause? Williams points out several problems. First, though a few game farms operate with integrity, many are just out to make a buck, and mistreat the animals. Second, such photos give people an artificial belief that animals in nature are all plump, happy, and blow dried (and in some cases, that African terrain looks oddly like Montana). Third, it's just plain dishonest, when there's a simple solution: disclose where the photo was taken.

Sounds to me like it's time to start asking questions before buying those photos.

The Lawrence Hall of Science, in the hills above the UC Berkeley campus, is known primarily as a place to take your kids to learn about math and science. So you've got to hand it to whoever there thought up "Geek Out Night," their new-ish monthly event where adults can mingle, meet scientists, play with the exhibits that are usually surrounded by a crowd of kids, and visit a cash bar.

It's not an event that every nonprofit can repeat -- but worth noting is how the organization took its existing assets and found a new (and fun) way to use them, reaching a different audience.

Too bad I missed the one where you bring in your broken old electronics (toasters, DVD players, etc.) and their experts helped you take it apart, put it back together, and see if you could make it work!