“Guilt is a kind of distanced relationship. Grief, I think, speaks about entanglement … Grief, I think, positions you inside the thing, and guilt positions you at a distance. And so that movement is a movement that says, this is my history and I have to do something about it.” — Christina Sharpe on grief
It is a surreal moment to celebrate Pride. This year has been marked by intense assaults against the histories and lineage of queer and trans people. Whether we are talking about 1969, when Stonewall Inn patrons fought police harassment for their gender expression for over five days, or the early days of the HIV pandemic, when ACT-UP organized against the studied inaction of the US administration — our communities have a historical knowledge of how silence can be weaponized to brutal effect.
In the current political climate, the power of silence is all too clear.
In the last several months, we have seen pointed and cruel attacks against our people, with the threat of further violence if we name what we see. The administration has flooded us with executive orders attacking trans and gender-diverse communities, naming trans people as mentally ill, deluded and worse. Even as I write this, the U.S. House of Representatives just passed a new tax bill that will ban affirming trans care for all people on Medicaid — this legislation now awaits its fate in the Senate. This is a playbook used across communities under attack — the same language has been used against Black and brown people, immigrants, disabled communities and so many others. No matter the community, the strategy remains the same: Attack. Erase. Deny.
It is not uncommon in moments like this, when democracy is under threat, for progressive movements to splinter under the weight of fear.
On one hand, we are witnessing incredible acts of courage in philanthropy — there are funders stepping up in both the public and private spheres, doubling down on their commitments to resource queer and trans movements, recognizing that our individual freedoms rely on our mutual liberation. Funders for LGBTQ Issues member institutions, such as the Mellon Foundation, MacArthur Foundation and Marguerite Casey Foundation, have publicly stepped forward, not only to double down on their commitment to resourcing progressive movements but also to actively increase their grantmaking budgets to meet the moment.
And yet, we are seeing a significant number of institutions ceding power, backing down from speaking about their work, backing away from standing in public solidarity with their own grantees, withdrawing from movement partnerships deemed too politically vulnerable, or in some cases, simply exiting the work altogether.
I can understand, and even empathize with those in fear. What I cannot forgive is abandonment. In the wake of the Pulse Massacre and George Floyd’s murder, these deaths triggered a deluge of promised philanthropic commitment totalling billions of dollars. However, four years later, the research is clear. Previous philanthropic commitments toward racial justice and transgender and gender nonconforming communities have not stood the test of time.
This finding is supported by research led by our partners at Philanthropic Initiative for Racial Equity, alongside Funders for LGBTQ Issues’ Annual Resource Tracking Report, which will be released this summer — there has been a significant decrease in grantmaking at a moment when our organizations need it more than ever. This speaks to the reality that grantmaking inspired by guilt is meaningless and ultimately dangerous.
Queer and trans communities don’t need philanthropy’s guilt to survive. In this time, we owe each other our grief and an understanding that our survival is implicated in each other. So what does it look like to act from a place of grief and love, rather than guilt?
Despite the intense chaos and heartbreak of this moment, movements around the globe offer lessons about how philanthropy can successfully resist authoritarianism. In a time when it is easy to lose hope, we have so much to offer each other. Whether it’s funding our vibrant ecosystem of intermediaries, coordinating with institutional partners to center queer and trans justice in your grantmaking, or organizing with living donors and trustees — there are concrete ways we can resource our movements to win.
This understanding fuels Funders for LGBTQ Issues. Our work and strategy remains the same: to convene, to organize and to be a home for queer, trans and allied grantmakers who believe we have a right to liberation. In the coming months, we will kick off a tour traveling to our members across the country to organize and build together. We need each other to win: our brilliance, our strategy and our best organizing. At the heart of every successful movement is a willingness to bodily hold liberation. How would the philanthropic sector move differently if we really believed that we can be free? Let’s find out together.
Saida Agostini-Bostic is the President of Funders for LGBTQ Issues, a network of over 100 foundations and philanthropic institutions that collectively award more than $1 billion annually, including approximately $258 million specifically devoted to LGBTQ issues.
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