The inequitable distribution of hope

Photo by Valeria Koulikova

This weekend the kids at our Saturday English School (SES) program had turkey for the very first time. We told them it was chicken…really large chicken. They had just arrived to the US this year, this was their very first Thanksgiving celebration, and turkey is a weird meat that they were not going to touch. After they eat the turkey and like it, we then say, “Ha ha, you just ate turkey and you liked it!” That’s how VFA rolls, following the motto for the SES program: “Curiosity, Perseverance, Deception.”

Over 120 kids showed up, middle and high-schoolers from all over the world. The program, done in partnership with Seattle World School (SWS) serves over 15 languages. I stood near the door and scanned the room, inspired by the students, some of whom take two buses to get to our program each week.

Whatever crappiness I feel for whatever reason is put into perspective whenever I visit our programs and talk to our kids. Half of them don’t speak much English at all, all of them are low-income, and few have any support from their families at home, since their parents work two or three jobs to try to make ends meet or have little knowledge of the school system. Sadly, we know from current statistics that half of these new arrival students will not graduate from high school. We work with the school and other nonprofits to try to stem the tide, but there will always be kids whose futures remain uncertain.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the distribution of hope and morale in our society. The schools with the highest percentage of low-income kids and kids of color also have the fewest resources, I know this. Their PTSAs are not as active or as well-connected; they can’t raise hundreds of thousands of dollars that could equip their schools with enrichment programs and fieldtrips and new computers. The inequitable distribution of resources is easy to understand, though it is still an uphill battle to change things.

But the kids and families also face more subtle inequities. The gap in hope is not something we talk about often. It is intangible, but it is there. A simple example is homework. We don’t think much about homework; homework is a good thing. But I remember what it was like to be a kid who just arrived to the US, who didn’t speak much English. Every day for a long time I would dread doing homework. Not because I wasn’t a good student, but because I had no one at home I could turn to for help. Mom and Dad worked all day and came home late, and even so their English was nonexistent. With homework, kids who have supportive and watchful parents will get them done and feel a measure of pride. For kids who don’t, it can lead to frustrated erasers burning holes in the paper, followed by the guilt and shame of failure and bad grades.

Another example is the enrichment programs like art and sports. For many kids, these are things they are good at. Even if your family is poor or you can’t speak much English, you can still be a good artist or singer or soccer player. I remember the first few years after we arrived to the US. By fourth grade, my English was still pretty crappy and I didn’t talk much at all. But I loved art because I was great at it. My stained-glass snowflake, made out of black construction paper and tissue paper, was a masterpiece of geometric genius. When the world was crazy, and it often was, drawing something and doing a good job at it brought some semblance of sanity and balance and self-worth.

We know these enrichment programs are great for kids’ morale and motivation for learning. These programs are not frivolous. They keep students wanting to come to school. Especially for kids who face so many barriers, they are critical for giving them a sense of hope. But the lack of resources at poorer schools means that they have fewer of these programs.

Seattle World School, with whom my organization partners for many of our programs, understands the importance of imparting hope to kids. They know many students can’t get homework help at home, so there are after-school programs and Saturday morning programs. They know the importance of enrichment programs like art and photography, so those programs are prioritized; at SWS, the students are amazing artists and photographers. This is an amazing school.

And now the school is under attack. Actually, every couple of years it is under attack. This school keeps getting moved around all over the city, since parents don’t speak enough English or have the same resources to write blog posts and emails to advocate for their school to remain in a stable central location. The school board and various superintendents keep promising to find a permanent home for the school, raising our communities’ hopes, and every couple of years, this promise gets broken. Our new superintendent agreed to settle it permanently at a school called TT Minor, and now some school board members are trying to move it again, claiming the school is needed for other population of students. Of course there will always be some other population of students, great ones, whose parents are much better equipped to be advocates.

I called one of the school board members who were supporting the idea of moving the school down to Southeast Seattle, a terrible idea, since recent-arrival students come from all over the city, so the school has to be in a central location. She agreed to support our wishes for the school to remain at TT minor. Now, disappointingly, we find out that she turned around 180 degrees again, co-sponsoring a proposal to move the school down to Southeast Seattle.

I was staring at the 120 students eating their first Thanksgiving meal, thinking about how much they go through every day and how next year we have no clue where the school is going to be. I was getting more and more pissed off at how crappy and horrible and unfair things are, how in Seattle the loudest voices always win, and how hard it is for our families to be as loud when most don’t speak any English or know how to type, so they can’t email board members or show up at school board meetings to testify. And because of that, their kids keep getting deprioritized and screwed over, in resources, in hope, in morale.

This week, the school board will be voting on this terrible proposal to move Seattle World School down to Southeast Seattle, and thus breaking yet another promise to our struggling students. We’ll keep advocating for the school and its students and families, like we have been doing for years. But it seems so hopeless…

“Mr. Vu,” said one of the students, snapping me out of my bitter reflections. Hanh was one of the students in our after-school program who could barely speak any English and was two or three grades behind when she arrived a few years ago. She graduated from the program and came back to help other kids. “I passed the test. I became US citizen.” She pulled out her original naturalization certificate, along with four photocopies, to show me. “The ceremony was last week.”

“What!” I said, “You should have told me! I would have been there for your ceremony.”

“I thought you…maybe are busy or something. You busy all the time.”

“I would have made time,” I said, “Anyway, I’m proud of you.” I was very proud of her, more confident that she would land among the 50% of the kids who will graduate from high school and have a decent chance to succeed. She flashed a grin full of shiny braces and headed off to get some food.

Hope is not the Pollyanna “everything will be OK” sort of sentiment, but some sense that one’s actions may lead to something good, that it’s not all in vain, that someone is looking out for you, that adults can keep their promises sometimes, that there is some sort of justice in the world, even if it comes rarely. Hope is what keeps great kids like Hanh going. Hope is one of the most critical things we nonprofits bring to our communities, and when it is not equitably distributed, we must help to bring balance.

Related post: Reflections for Thanksgiving

The gluten-freeing of community engagement

All right, everyone, we need to talk about the gluten-free bandwagon. “Oooh, I can’t have any bread. I’m gluten-free. I’ve cut out gluten for three weeks, and I feel so much better.” Scoff. I love gluten. Gluten is awesome. I eat it with every meal and finish off with gluten ice cream or a seitan pudding. If you’re gluten-free and you’re not actually diagnosed with gluten intolerance by a doctor, you’re kind of annoying. I still like you, but you’re kind of annoying.

Of course, gluten-free people are high-strung, so this post may not make me many new friends. “How DARE you dismiss gluten sensitivity. I’ll have you know that I suffered from blah blah all my life and then I became gluten-free  and within a week the rash disappeared. In fact, not only that but my long-lost dog came back blah blah. My uncle had one leg amputated, and after a year of giving up wheat products, his leg grew back and he was able to save a bus full of children from going over a cliff, blah blah.”

Only 1% of the population has the serious and possibly life-threatening Celiac disease, and yet approximately 90% of people I know are now gluten-free. We can’t escape them. They’re everywhere. We pro-gluten people have started forming guerilla resistance groups, hiding in the shadows, munching on our wheat breads and pastas.

Community engagement, lately, has become like this gluten-free bandwagon. Everyone is doing it, for everything, big and small, and the term itself has been thrown around with abandon. Seattle is known for trying to be inclusive, and you can’t turn the corner without someone trying to engage you in something. (“Psst, hey buddy, you wanna come to a summit…?”) And in Seattle, the engagement takes on special characteristics, being organic and artisanal, done in small batches.

It’s admirable that everyone wants to be inclusive and get community involvement and input for everything, but like the gluten-free craze, it’s gotten annoying. When the term “community engagement” is so liberally used, real community engagement gets lost in the mix. Getting eight people to come to a focus group, that’s not necessarily community engagement. Having simultaneous interpretation at a large gathering, that’s not necessarily community engagement. Having two or three people of color on your board or steering committee, that’s not necessarily community engagement.

For me, the engagement continuum has two ends: tokenizing and ownership.

At the tokenizing end are things like gathering community input without any intention to actually incorporate it into the final plan. This happens a lot, and it is irritating. I was once at an input session on education funding priorities (“Psst, hey buddy, wanna come to an input session on education funding priorities…?”). Dozens of community members showed up, brainstormed on easel papers, and voted on their top priorities using dots. They highlighted the need for more funding to go to helping immigrant and refugee parents so they can better support their kids academically, among other strategies. Everyone was excited. Sadly, the final plan was going to be approved the next day. There was no way any of the input would have shaped the plan. Dozens of people wasted their time, their hopes raised in vain. I looked at the plan and it listed the input session as evidence that the community had been engaged. This sort of tokenizing happens over and over again.

Good community engagement, like good leadership or good teaching, ends with the people who are being engaged feeling like this is their project, their movement, and that their efforts are leading to something substantive. This process is relationship-centered and is time-consuming, messy, nebulous, and resource-intensive. It requires organizers to commit to being in the boat for a long time, or to have someone who has been in the boat for a long time, because real community engagement requires trust and mutual respect, and you cannot build trust and mutual respect through a one-time stand-alone focus group or a kumbaya summit.

Community engagement lately has become the icing on the cake, the final, unessential, and sickeningly sweet component whose only purpose is to make the cake look pretty. Dude, authentic community engagement needs to be the cake! What does that mean? I’ve riffed on this subject before–(“Psst, hey buddy, you wanna complain about community engagement again?”)–but it bears repeating often.

First, engage people at the onset of any project, not at the end. Second, the people most impacted by whatever you’re trying to address should be leading or at least deeply at the core of the efforts, so if you’re not moving in this direction, something is fundamentally wrong. Third, fund people and organization equitably; stop just paying the organizers who will invariably go out to “engage” the community, which is basically just asking people to do stuff for free; we’re sick of it, especially when there is a whiff of tokenizing. Fourth, understand that community engagement takes time, so plan and budget for the long haul.

Also, maybe not everything needs community engagement. One time, I was asked to rally the communities of color around sewage overflow. Look, it’s really great that we have engineers and other professionals taking care of the sewage problem. Functioning sewers are an important part of any society, a part that we all take for granted. But the very busy community members I talked to did not really want to attend meetings and vote with dots on this issue. They just wanted the experts to do the studies and make the decisions, since they have little knowledge of this subject.

All right, I think I’ve offended enough people for one day, and the hordes of gluten-free people are probably filing their rice crackers into sharp points to stab me with. For some reason, I’ve been feeling irritable, and it shows in this post. I’ve also been sluggish and lethargic. It’s probably because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in eight months. Or…maybe I should give up gluten for a while and see how I feel.

Related post: Community Engagement 101: Why Most Summits Suck

How to charm your program officer and have the best site visit ever!

There are few things in the nonprofit world as exciting and nerve-wracking as the site visit, the final step before getting a piece of that sweet, sweet funding. It is kind of like a date, a date where if you fail to impress, you may have to lay off staff and possibly not be able to help hundreds of clients who need the services, leaving you to weep alone in your office bathroom, consoling yourself with an entire bar of Trader Joe’s Pound Plus dark chocolate with almonds.

Program officers are special people. Smart and good-looking—in fact, scientifically 27% better looking than civilians—they can be intimidating. However, despite their great complexion and impeccable sense of style, they are also human. So if you are fortunate enough to get a site visit, there are things you can do to increase your chance of it being a successful one. Just follow these tips below:

1. Leading up to the day, make sure to remind your staff that there is a site visit. Everyone should act naturally, but it doesn’t hurt to have one or two staff unexpectedly say something like, “It’s nice to meet you. I would stay to chat, but I am helping one of our kids with her college essay. Shucks, I love this job.”
2. Refresh your knowledge of the foundation by exploring its website, focusing specifically on its investment priorities/jargon. This will allow you to say impressive things like: “I understand that one of your strategic priorities is shifting the paradigm to enhance collective impact efforts focused on the sustainability of thriving place-based urban-agrarian developments. This is why our Unicycle for Guns program is such a great fit. In addition to reducing violence through allowing youth to trade guns in for unicycles, we have also started organizing both gun control advocates and the acrobatics community to work together to change policies at the state level.” See how impressive that sounds?
3. Refresh your knowledge of your narrative and budget. After such a long time, you may forget all the details, which may be very embarrassing, since your program officer’s job is to thoroughly go through your application line by line and budget item by budget item and get clarification during the site visit. They will be extremely specific with their questions, such as “On page six, paragraph three of your narrative, you state that you will be providing workshops in the evenings four days per week, but on line 29A of the budget, there is only funding for a part-time staff to do three days per week. Also, looking at your staff bios on your website, I know that Jorge, the staff in charge of this project, will be taking night courses to earn his MSW while simultaneously planning his wedding. Who will be in charge of these workshops in the evening then, and what will you do when Mercury is in retrograde in November?”
4. If the site visit the requires the presence of a board member, meet beforehand to refresh your board member on the program and how it aligns with your organization’s mission, values, and strategic plan. Depending on your board member, you may also have to do a refresher on your organization’s mission, values, and strategic plan.
5. If the site visit is at a program, tell the clients ahead of time to expect some people, so that they don’t freak out. You want everyone to act natural, so consider whether or not you should tell clients that a funder is visiting. Also consider whether it is a good idea to have one or more clients walk by casually and say things like, “I don’t know where my life would be if it weren’t for this program. Shucks, I love this program and the organization that runs it.”
6. On the day of, dress appropriately, depending on the size of the grant. The bigger the grant, the more professional you and your staff should look. Grants under $5,000 you can pretty much do what I do and just roll out of bed and pop a peppermint into your mouth. $5,000 to $25,000 smart casual is best. $25,000 to $75,000 business casual. $75,000 to $150,000 semi-formal. $150,000 to $1million, business attire. Anything over $1million: coat, tails, top hat, cane.
7. Have a pad of paper and a pen ready, and jot down notes once every few minutes. It’s good to remember all the stuff your program officer tells you, but even if you don’t need to take notes, pretending to do so will make it seem like you’re engaged. It is also good to have a copy of your grant application printed out. If you forgot to have your grant application printed out, just gather whatever random but official-looking papers into a stack and keep it in front of you.
8. Your program officer unconsciously senses the power dynamics, so they will try to make you comfortable with light-hearted chatter and jokes. Make sure your laughter is appropriately hearty, but not too prolonged or strained.
9. Have an agenda prepared. The program officer usually already has their agenda set, but it is good for you to have something down also. It makes you look competent and invested when you can open strong during the introduction, like “I know you have a list of things to go over, but if we have time, I also want to touch base on these items I jot down while thoroughly reviewing the Foundation’s funding priorities. These items include evaluation, sustainability, and how our mentorship program aims to be carbon neutral by 2020.”
10. Be calm and don’t try to BS. Program officers are trained to sense fear and deception. You should know your program and organization well, but there will be moments where you do not know the answer to something. If that happens, it is best to say something like “I’m sorry, but I do not know how many of our clients are actually gluten intolerant due to Celiac Disease and how many are just jumping on the bandwagon. I’ll double-check and get back to you.”
11. Be transparent yet optimistic and solution-focused about your challenges. Your program officer will point out major weaknesses in your program and organization. Admit to those weaknesses and discuss what you will be doing to address it: “Yes, a major challenge for our organization is that we were founded as a doomsday cult. It will take many years for us to move past this image. However, the board and staff have created a communication plan around this issue, and we all strongly believe that we can move forward while providing high-quality non-doomsday services to our clients.”
12. Watch your body language. I’ll elaborate later about body language in nonprofit work. For now, just remember try to mimic what your program officer does. Mimicking of body language, when done right, makes you a lot more relatable and approachable. Do it subtly, though, or you’ll creep people out. For instance, if your program officer crosses his legs, wait ten seconds, then cross your legs also. If they lean forward, wait ten seconds, then lean forward. If they cough hysterically, wait ten seconds, then cough hysterically.
13. At the end of the meeting, you will be given a chance to ask questions. You will not impress if you don’t have any questions to ask, so think of a few in advance. Here are some examples of good, relevant questions to ask: “So what about our program in particular that interests the Foundation?” “Do you see your strategic priorities changing in the next few years?” “What are the next steps? When can we expect a decision from the Foundation?” Refrain from asking non-relevant questions like “So, I’m developing a musical about nonprofit work, would the Foundation be interested in funding that as well?” or “Are you single?”
14. Send a short and sweet thank-you email. It may be helpful to reiterate in a sentence or two about how your program is so awesome and how it aligns with the foundation’s strategies, but don’t go overboard. In a paragraph, express your thanks for the program officer’s visit, apologize for any mishaps that occurred—”my apologies for the terrible compost smell that lingered over our conversation”—continue on any inside jokes that developed during the site visit—”next time, we’ll definitely have weasels as a line item in our budget!”—confirm any action items that you will be taking, along with concrete deadlines—”we’ll revise the budget and get it to you by 5pm Friday”—and express some hopeful vulnerability—”We’ll keep our fingers crossed until we hear from the Foundation.”

There you go, just follow the above tips and you should have a swell site visit. Please add other tips you can think of in the comment section, and forward this to all your friends and relatives.

Related post: Site Visits, Uncomfortable, Yet Terrifying

Final observations on Europe before we get back to unicorns and wombats

Hi everyone, sorry for the lateness of this post. I was traveling back from Berlin. It is good to be back in Seattle, though I am jetlagged and look kind of like someone just punched me in both eyes. Today I realized I have lost 5 pounds, which gives me a great idea: The Vegan Balkans Diet! Basically, just become a vegan, then go to the Balkans.

Since I’m jetlagged and trying not to fall asleep until at least 9pm, I don’t know how coherent this post is going to be. Berlin, Germany was really great, except that people were kind of rude, saying things like “You do not have an account at this bank? Then no, you may not withdrawal money here” and “Stop! You can’t just try to break off a piece of the Berlin Wall at this museum!”

We arrived just as news broke about the NSA listening to Angela Merkel’s cell phone. Reactions to us Americans were mixed, leaning negative. “I was a fan of Obama,” said one taxi driver, “but not anymore.”

Overall, this Fellowship has been amazing and exhausting. There is a lot of information to process for months to come. Before I leave writing about Europe, and get back to talking about unicorns and wombats next week, I want to capture a few last thoughts and observations:

• Politicians in Copenhagen are efficient, collegial, and seem to get along even when they disagree on policies. That’s right, politicians can disagree on policies and still grab a beer together! This is so not true in the US for the most part, where a simple disagreement on something can lead to fist-fights at the farmer’s market and a burning hatred for two decades.
• That being said, the smorrbrod, or open-faced sandwich, is one of the most inefficient ways of eating anything. One piece of very dry rye bread, pile all the toppings on, and then try to eat it with a knife and fork. Plus, it is expensive as hell living in Copenhagen. I saw a Twix that was 7 dollars. No wonder the nonprofit structure is underdeveloped there. Nonprofit staff would not be able to afford the time or money to live in Denmark. We don’t have three hours to eat a $26 smorrbrod.
• Religion is important in Europe, but it is considered a private matter and it is highly distasteful for politicians to use it as a tool for election. They find it bizarre when our presidential candidates talk about their religious beliefs, and even worse, when inaugurations and other formal occasions include prayers and blessings. “Religion here is like a penis,” said one of the politicians that I met, “it’s OK for you to have one. But don’t wave it around people’s faces.”
• Gender dynamics varies from country to country. In Denmark, men and women are pretty much equal, with the top three highest posts in Copenhagen politics all held by women. In other places, it is different. In Lisbon, Portugal, for example, the waiters served all the women first. I found this the hard way when the waiter skipped over me when serving dinner rolls, which was very annoying, since I am vegan, and dinner rolls with some olive oil were all I could eat!
• Immigrants all have a hard time in the various countries we visited, except maybe Portugal. Discrimination has been more subtle (“So, do you drink?” to find out if you’re  Muslim during a job interview).
• The Roma community seems to be having the most challenges in almost all countries, and it is heartbreaking the few times I saw women and small children sleeping on the grass or cement. Some countries have strong welfare systems, but if you don’t have the right papers, you’re pretty much screwed, and also because of the strong welfare system the general public is often complacent to help.
• Immigrant girls seem to be doing best in school, sometimes even out-performing the local kids. They are leaving the boys behind, which often creates resentment, and then they don’t want to marry the underperforming men from their culture, creating other problematic dynamics within the community.
• The Balkans’ traditional alcohol, called Rakia, aka “Balkan moonshine,” is not for the weak of stomach. It is made by fermenting fruit and, I believe, turpentine. It is a great digestive, and, when necessary, lamp fuel.
• According to most “normal” people we met, the EU is incredibly boring, just 700+ Eurocrats who hand down obscure legislations to the rest of Europe. National media are loath to cover EU stuff because it is so boring. When I left, they were considering my suggestion of fabricating a good scandal to increase public interest.
• Belgian chocolates are pretty good, but quality varies. Some of it is way too sweet. I daresay that our artisanal chocolates in Seattle can compete on the same level with some of these European chocolate makers.
• Europeans are continually amazed and inspired by how open Americans are. We’ll invite just about anyone to our Thanksgiving dinner. In Europe it is harder, and you might have to know someone for twenty years and maybe marry them before they’ll show you where they live.
• The Danish concept of “hyggeligt” (pronounced something like “hoogly”) is very prevalent. It means something like “cozy, with a sense of intimacy and contentment” like “this dinner party is so hyggeligt.” It’s great, though they didn’t understand my “yo mama so hyggeligt” jokes, e.g. “Yo mama place so hyggeligt, it smells like fresh-baked blueberry muffins.”
• Serbians have a great and biting sense of humor. On a plane there I read an article that ends with something like, “I hope you, dear reader, will tell people about this interview that you just read. Mainly for your sake, since it means that your plane hasn’t crashed.”

And I’m very happy that the plane didn’t crash. I’m glad to be back. I missed my family. I even missed my staff and only yelled at them a little bit for forgetting to water the office plants. I am ready to get back to life and to my projects here, including working on 501c3 The Musical, which will now be kicked into full gear, once I catch up on The Walking Dead.

Serbia, nonprofits, Breaking Bad, and veganism

Hi everyone. I am so exhausted. I don’t think I have thought this intensely for this long a period of time since, I don’t know, maybe the first season of Game of Thrones. I am now in Serbia in the city of Belgrade, some place that I never thought I would be. No one really says, “I want to go to Serbia for vacation” or “We’re going to Serbia for our honeymoon” or “Congratulations, you just won a free trip to Serbia!”

And that’s too bad, because the city is beautiful. Belgrade has been fought over in 115 wars and burned to the ground 44 times in its history by various armies. But, except for the buildings bombed by NATO during the Kosovo War in 1999, everything looks great, with shiny glass buildings standing harmoniously next to ancient architecture. I have been trying to absorb everything. There are some painful memories of the brutal atrocities committed during the tumultuous past, a significant part by the Serb army, but as a whole the country is trying to move forward with its future, a major step being joining the European Union.

The past few days have been intense. Besides the constant flow of information that requires thinking and analysis, we have been meeting with European alums of the program, which leads to fascinating conversations. Thank goodness the US politicians managed to negotiate a brilliant deal to kick the can down the road until early next year regarding the shutdown, because it has been embarrassing for us American fellows. I was surprised to learn just how closely everyone over here follows our US politics. “During major debates,” said one of the European alums, “my friends and I get together and make popcorn. It’s like a movie for us.”

The shutdown fiasco, in some ways, has made the US more approachable. “It was very thoughtful of you to do that,” said one Serbian local I met over dinner, “Now we don’t feel so bad about our own crazy fringe politicians who are also trying to destroy the country.”

The typical European dinner lasts for three years, and wine is heavily featured, which has led to some great discussions about politics, philosophy, and human nature and stuff. Lately I’ve also been heavily engaged in arguments about veganism, especially here in Serbia, where the national food seems to be meat. The typical meal here starts with a meat salad, followed by a giant plate of grilled meat, then, for dessert, a refreshing meat sorbet. I’m only exaggerating a little bit.

“Vu,” said an alum from Serbia, “how can you not eat meat? Life is so short. Did you watch Breaking Bad? To be vegan is to be Walter White before cancer caused him to reevaluate his life. He was not living.” Walter White, I said, made terrible choices throughout his life, including not getting life insurance, choices that led to the death of dozens of people, many of them innocent. For more than an hour we argued, and I’ll spare you the details, but it amazed me how philosophical and knowledgeable people are over here about American culture.

Today, we met with two Executive Directors of local nonprofits. Unlike the stylish ones in Brussels and Copenhagen, these two look like real EDs: hopeful, tired, passionate, frustrated, humble, maybe suffering from a slight drinking problem. Here in Serbia there exist thousands of nonprofits. From the conversations we had, it seems they struggle just as much, or even more, than we are in the US. I nearly cried with empathy when one talked about how they are struggling to be sustainable, since funders have been refusing to pay for administrative expenses, only programs. Despite the huge number of nonprofits, the public still is ignorant or leery of them, a remnant of the Milosevic era when nonprofits were considered spies and traitors against the dictatorial regime. “So I got a name plate,” said one of the EDs, “and it said my name and ‘Spy’ on it and I put it on the front of the office.” We laughed, and it was a great sign that things are moving forward, because doing something like that in the past might have led to imprisonment or death.

After the last meeting today, I loosened my tie and walked around, breathing in the Belgrade air. I have never worn a suit and tie this often in my entire life. Miraculously I found a tiny vegan place that sold baked tofu and seitan and sandwiches, and I nearly hugged the sweet woman shopkeeper, overjoyed and relieved. “I don’t speak many English,” she said when I explained I was vegan, “but you no worry. No egg. No dairy.” It’s been several days of bread and pasta, for which I have been thankful, since this trip has been an amazing and life-changing opportunity that will likely never come again.

Still, it was so nice to have some food I could eat without wondering if it contained chicken broth or bacon fat. I bought some sandwiches and went to a nearby park and sat down on a bench in front of a statue of a local hero. It was evening. Three teenage girls were taking selfies on their phone. People were drinking and laughing in the numerous restaurants all around, munching on their grilled meat. A homeless man, carrying bags of cans, went around checking the trash bins while cars drove slowly, navigating the cobblestone streets circling the park. Above and surrounding us, buildings rose upward, some new, some old, many probably having seen the destruction of Belgrade during the countless wars. I ate my vegan sandwich and took a moment to be grateful for this trip, for having the chance to experience Belgrade during peace time. You know, more people should think about Serbia for their honeymoon.

Related post: “9 Lessons from Breaking Bad We Can Apply to Nonprofit Work“

Europe’s nonprofit structure: The good, the bad, the stylish

The past few days have been intense, filled with 10 to 15 hours daily of meetings with government officials, local business leaders, education leaders, city planners, etc. The lunches and dinners are also packed with interesting stuff. In Copenhagen we toured the city by bicycle, learned about the port’s development while riding down the canal on a boat, talked with top officials of the Danish Parliment, got a briefing from an association of employers, had dinner with an industry leader in her office, toured and chatted with the publicly-financed radio and television station, rode the light rail and learned about its development, spent a night at a wine maker’s mansion and learned from him the challenges employers are facing with the inheritance tax and the high costs of hiring workers, toured a “ghetto” where many of the immigrants are living, and sat through a beautiful opera where I was struggling to stay awake after 12 hours information.

Each of those events would make a great blog post, if I had more time and weren’t so lazy. With everything being so fascinating, I didn’t think it was taking a toll on me, until one of the other fellows told me “Every morning, it looks like someone had broken into your hotel room and beat you.”

“Oh yeah?” I said by way of a comeback, “well your face looks like a smorrbro [the traditional Danish open-faced sandwich] that had gone bad.”

The above is only half the stuff we have been doing, though. Between meetings, I have been able to talk to the locals, interviewing the taxi drivers on their views of the welfare system, questioning waitresses on their thoughts on the education system and the European Union. Each of us fellows also get paired up for one-on-one meetings with local leaders around topics pertinent to our work back home. For me, those topics include immigrant integration, the nonprofit structure, the education system, and where to find good chocolate. I only have a couple of hours until our dinner meeting, so I’ll focus on the nonprofit structure and will explore the other topics, as well as how Europeans perceive us Americans, later.

The nonprofit structure, as we know it, does not really exist in Europe, as least not in Belgium and Denmark, where I’ve had a chance to explore. Or maybe it does, but not nearly to the same extent that we do in the US. I had dinner with an Executive Director of an umbrella organization that is trying to build capacity of the local groups here. Right away I could tell that there is a marked difference between our two countries, as “Laurent” looks young and healthy, even stylish, in contrast to us EDs in the US, who are worn, gaunt, beaten down by time and stress, our hair gray, our faces marked by crisscrossing wrinkles, the results of too many annual events and endless nights worrying about budget gaps and which staff we may need to lay off.

“Almost 100% of my funds come from the government, who set the money aside each year,” said Laurent, chewing on his gnocchi with pesto sauce at the modest Italian restaurant we were in, “so 90% of my time is spent working on improving programs.”

“90%!” I said, nearly spewing my Belgium Leffe Blond beer onto Laurent’s boyish face and fashionable scarf. “What…what about fundraising events?” I asked, “Do you ever do those?”

“Never,” he said, and I had to drink some more beer to keep from crying. The people here pay high taxes, which go to take care of basic needs of the public like food for the low-income, and healthcare and education for everyone. Individual donations are rare, as most people consider themselves already giving what they could to the greater good through their taxes. With the State taking care of so much, there are few nonprofits here, and those that exist seem to get dedicated funding set aside for them each year, allowing them to not worry too much about sustainability. They can focus on their work. In a way, this is a remarkable system.

On the other hand, there are plenty of weaknesses. The government cannot possibly take care of everything, leading to huge gaps in services and innovation. It has made me think of how ridiculously creative nonprofits are in the US, with programs to teach kids leadership through gardening or cooking or radio, to help seniors through art or dance, to build community through biking or neighborhood cleanups or whatever. These are things that seem to not be as prevalent in the two countries I’ve visited. Some of the gaps are vital services that have not risen to the level of national attention; for example, the plight of abused children in Denmark, who go unnoticed by the government and general public, as few nonprofits exist to amplify their voices.

Another weakness is who gets funded. If you get a slice of government pie for your organization, you’re pretty good. If you don’t, finding funding will be incredibly difficult, as individuals don’t give, and major corporations, also paying high taxes, do not feel an intrinsic obligation to give to local causes. “They give to the local football [soccer] team,” said Laurent, “because it is tangible. Everything else, they think the State should take care of it.”

It is especially challenging for the immigrant and refugee communities, whose unique and diverse cultural needs cannot possibly be handled by the government. These cultural associations have a hard time in the US, and doubly so in Belgium and Denmark and I would guess other countries in Europe. Most are volunteer-driven, falling under the umbrella of an organization like Laurent’s. And Laurent, an ED here, does not understand my point about the importance of funding these groups to move them out of the voluneer model and into a sustainable one with full-time staff and professional credibility. “If we fund them to hire full-time staff,” he said, “and the staff leave, they take with them all the connections to the community. Volunteer community leaders, however, usually stay, so there is sustainability.” This mimics the inefficient model we often see in the US, where nonprofits led by communities of color are deprofessionalized, paternalistically sheltered under the aegis of a “wiser and more sophisticated” umbrella organization that absorbs 95% of the funding while the smaller organizations do all the direct service work. Here it might actually be worse.

In Denmark, the social welfare system seems to be even stronger, which means nonprofits have even less of a presence. I talked to “Hannah,” a woman who is passionate about her work with abused kids and I was shocked to learn how little the government knows about and protects this vulnerable population. Hannah has been having a hard time finding funding for her work.

“People see me on the TV,” she said, “and they send flowers and chocolates, saying what a hero I am.”

“Flowers and chocolates?” I said, “you need money! Tell them to send you money and get their friends to send you money!” In my righteous zealousness, I started elaborating on the US nonprofit structure, with its ED and board and development director and program director and strategic plans and individual donors and stuff, concepts that are completely foreign here. Hannah’s eyes lit up. “Please,” she said, “email me about your American nonprofit structure. Maybe you should move over here and help me set this up!”

This is kind of a tempting prospect. Maersk, the Danish shipping company, just last week donated $200 million to the Danish education system. From what I hear, this is very generous, but the Danish education system is well funded by taxes. This gift from Maersk would be much better spent to close the cracks in the social welfare system, cracks that passionate people like Hannah are trying to tackle with very little experience and support.

Despite all the flaws of our nonprofit structure in the US, a structure that ages and burns us staff out and makes us resemble beat-up leather shoes, it nonetheless has some great stuff going on. We are more creative, honing our programs to target specific needs of our clients. Our donors and corporations feel more of a sense of duty to help strengthen our community.

Still, we can learn a whole bunch of stuff from Europe, too. I would love it if funding were as stable so that we can spend more time—90%!–on actually improving our services instead of trying to keep our organizations surviving for one more year.

I’ll be thinking more about these things as I visit the other European countries. I just arrived in Lisbon today and will be observing Portugal’s various systems. Will write more later. There is a lot to think about.

Marshall Fellowship Day 5: Lost in Beer and Chocolate

Disclaimer: Vu is on travels in Europe with the Marshall Memorial Fellowship and writing quality, general coherence, and spelling and grammar, may be affected by Belgian beer.

Mall where I got totally lost

Day 5: I just returned to my hotel in Brussels after a fun and intense day that spanned from 8am this morning to 11:30pm. So far, Brussels has been an impressive city with beautiful architecture, friendly people, environmental conscientiousness, and a vibrant energy. Really, the only thing I can complain about is the toilet paper. Due to the city’s green-focus, the toilet paper at this very nice hotel is like no other, combining the softness of sawdust with the smoothness of sandpaper.

I’ll talk more about Brussels in a minute, but first I wanted to recapture the intense last few days. Day 2, DC, had us and the European fellows visit American University for a lecture on American culture from an amazing professor, who basically said that we in the US are rallied around the verb “to do.” We focus on actions. This is why when we first meet someone, we ask them right away what they do. We focus on individual accomplishments and earned status. We hate asking for charity, and that’s why we say things like “Can I borrow a cigarette?” On the opposite end of the spectrum are cultures rallied around the verb “to be,” where relationships, group accomplishments, and ascribed status take precedence over the individuals’ actions and merits. Europe, with its long history of royal families, fall further along on that end.

“The US has never experienced the intensity of war like other countries,” he continued, moving on to dissect the history of the US and its strengths and weaknesses. On the way out of the lecture and during lunch I talked with other European fellows and learned of the horrific things their families had to endure. “The Germans came and destroyed 70% of Warsaw,” said one, “everyone on my mother’s side of the family was killed. Then the Soviets came…”

The flight was fine, except for the few instances of strong turbulence that made me very glad I had written a letter to my baby son just in case I died unexpectedly. We arrived in cold and overcast Brussels at 8am.“You cannot fall asleep,” said the Marshall program staff, “we booked a walking tour of the City and then lunch. You have to stay awake or you will be severely jetlagged.”

So the band of 15 ragged, exhausted fellows and our tour guides wandered the City, red-eyed and disheveled, looking like zombies or government workers affected by the shutdown. Luckily, Brussels is beautiful and full of life and chocolates and beer. We quickly perked up, seeing the splendor of the royal palace and the beautiful mall with its cathredral-heighted ceiling. All of a sudden it hit me that I was in Europe, with its ancient history and buildings that have witnessed thousands of years of strife and sorrows and rebirth. These beautiful buildings are a testament to humankind’s resilience and drive to survive and build and rebuild.

I was lost in these thoughts, and then I looked around and realized I had lost my group. I was lost in Brussels! I ran ahead to see if I could catch up, but they were nowhere to be found. My phone had died, so I couldn’t call anyone, and there are no pay phones anywhere. For the next 45 minutes I wandered the city, trying to find a phone, talking to people who looked friendly. Most people here speak French, so I tried to speak the limited French I had, and it is pretty awful, despite six years of studies. For some reason, probably jetlag, random useless French words kept appearing in my head. “Parlez-vous poisson,” I wanted to say, “je veux danser dans une biblioteque.” Do you speak fish? I want to dance in a library.

Getting lost was actually extremely enjoyable. Adrenaline kicked in, and I was focused, and the French came back. Brussels was beautiful, so full of colors and interesting shops. I was able to explain to a lady that I had lost my group and that I needed to borrow her phone. She was skeptical, but softened as I looked at her with these puppy-dog eyes, which would probably have been more effective if they hadn’t been blood red and twitching uncontrollably.

No response when I called the staff. I took a taxi to the restaurant, hoping that they would keep their schedule and head there also. No one was there, but I asked someone in French what time it was, and I was ten minutes early. I waited, and the group showed up. Everyone clapped. Apparently, one of the staff had come back and shouted my name at the mall. Others were freaking out. “We thought you might have been kidnapped. Or passed out in the alley from lack of vegan food…”

Lunch was done at 3:30, and we tried to power through to at least 8pm to avoid jetlag. So of course, we went out for beers, because nothing is better at warding off jetlag than to drink beer. The Belgians are crazy about their beer, and a whole culture has developed around it. There are over 2000 types of beer here, or so I’ve heard, and you know what, all of the beers here kick our beers’ butts. I’ve never been a fan of beer, but I’ve really liked the ones here.

Two bars later, we came home at 9:30pm and promptly crashed, proud of having achieved our mission of staying awake for 35 consecutive hours. Today we woke up early and toured the small and charming city of Bruges, famous for its bridges and well-preserved ancient buildings. We had dinner with the editor of The Guardian newspaper and more European alums, where I learned of the minority voice to dismantle the European Union and other challenges the EU is facing. A fellow from Hungary told me of the struggle his country is facing—the high unemployment rate, the migration of skilled people out of the country, the discrimination against the Roma, and the insane country leader. Hungary has suffered greatly from the occupations of the Germans and the Soviets. “Both my grandfathers died in the War,” he said, “and my mother and her relatives were sent to Auschwitz and other concentration camps. Some survived. Not many.”

I have to go to bed. It has been an illuminating trip so far. Tomorrow, we visit the European Union as well as NATO headquarters to learn about collective security and immigrant integration. It’ll be another 8am to 11pm day, so I better down my to-go beer and go to sleep.

Marshall Fellowship Day 1: A Boy and His Pig

Disclaimer: Vu is traveling through Europe (Brussels, Copenhagen, Lisbon, Berlin, and Belgrade) for the next three weeks with the Marshall Memorial Fellowship and will be using this blog to reflect. Due to the intensity of the program and the amount of wine imbibed, spelling, grammar, and general quality of writing will be shamefully lacking.

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Day 1: The program has started off pretty well. I am in DC for the first time and find the city to be pleasant. There are 14 other fellows, and they are an impressive and intimidating bunch who have accomplished a whole bunch of stuff. After our orientation and reception today, for example, this conversation took place, which I am not making up:

Me: So, what do you do?

Fellow 1: I am an elected official, and I also founded an orphanage in Kenya.

Fellow 2: What?! No way! I am an elected official too, and I have founded SEVEN orphanages in Kenya!

They laughed and started talking animatedly, forging an instant bond that only exist among people who have opened orphanages. Then they turned and asked me what I did. “I direct a nonprofit that helps low-income immigrant families,” I said, “and, uh, I have 12 orphanages in Kenya…”

Even more impressive than the American fellows are the European fellows. While we American are touring European cities to learn their policies and culture, they’re doing the same by touring our cities, though I think they’re getting the short end of the stick. I mean, seriously, I get to go to Berlin and Lisbon…and they’re visiting Memphis, Tennessee and Billings, Alabama.

This evening, during a welcome reception, we mingled with the European fellows, and I was put to shame by how much more knowledgeable they are about everything. Each of them are fluent in four or more languages, including this one Spanish dude who is fluent in Mandarin after living there for eight years! They spoke eloquently and knowledgeably, comparing our government to Europe’s, which made me feel awkward and inferior, like I had stumbled out of some backwoods rural town into the big city, wearing overalls and carrying a pig that I was going to sell in order to buy some kerosene or something.

“You know,” said one European fellow when I asked him what he appreciated most about the US, “as, how do you say, corny, as corny as it is to say, I think the US has bigger hearts. You still try to help people. You, for example, work for a nonprofit. You want to help people. In many ways, I think we are more cynical in Europe.”

Another fellow expressed her surprise at how much beef we eat over here. “I have never eaten so much beef in my life.” All of them seemed surprised at our debate on gun control, shocked by someone from the NRA they had talked to.

At one point, feeling awful, though I was wearing a suit and tie and was looking quite dashing in a put-on-your-best-overalls-and-sell-that-pig sort of way, I wandered over to two fellows who were talking about Alexis de Tocqueville and his views on America and whether those views were still relevant. One wanted to refute de Tocqueville’s view. “We Europeans often say, the EU should be more like the US, based on de Tocqueville’s observations,” said one fellow, “but de Tocqueville formed his views when America was a small, struggling country. Now it is much bigger and the circumstances have changed.” The other fellow started piping in with his thoughts, mentioning how de Tocqueville had predicted the rise of the Soviet Union as a superpower, and even the Cold War. I stood there, sipping on my wine, nodding thoughtfully.

What is clear already from this first day on the trip is that we Americans have huge gaps in knowledge. “You do not need to learn other languages,” said a fellow from Poland, “because you think you are the center of the world.” We laughed, but it was apparent that this is a general perception people from other countries have of us. And in my ways it is true. Only until we got accepted into this fellowship did many of us American fellows pay any attention to Europe. No doubt America is a great country, with big hearts. But our US-centric views blind us to all the lessons that we could learn from other countries.

“What do you think of de Tocqueville, Vu?” I was asked. Luckily, in my preparations for this trip, I had read up briefly on him.

“De Tocqueville stated that a great strength of the US is that we have no ideological school of thought. He said no where else in the world do people care less about philosophy, an attribute that has let us focus on productivity and progress and less time being divided among different schools of thoughts. Unfortunately, from my perspective, we now have small but loud factions in our society, fundamentalists who form their thoughts around their values and then presents those thoughts and values as the quintessential ‘American’ ideology that they then defend to detriment of the country.”

I was going to say all that, but one of the American fellows tapped me on the shoulder and said, “We’re going to a bar,” so of course I chugged my wine and left.

Tomorrow, we have more orientation. The Europeans fellows will leave to visit American cities, while we take a red-eye flight to Brussels. I’m very excited. I mean, Brussels is the capital of the EU and is the headquarters of NATO. We will get to visit both. But just as importantly, Belgium is supposed to have kick-ass chocolate, and I’m willing to sell my pig for that.

8 grammar mistakes even smart and sexy people like you are making

Hi everyone, this post will be my last normal one for a few weeks. I am heading off to Europe this Wednesday for about a month with the German Marshall Memorial Fellowship to learn about how they do stuff over there, stuff like education, immigrant/refugee integration, nonprofit structure, and philanthropy. To prepare, I’ve been brushing up on my European history, focusing on the period from World War II to now, as well as European culture, focusing on wine drinking. I’m going to Brussels, Copenhagen, Lisbon, Belgrade, and Berlin. The program is pretty intense, so it is unlikely I’ll be able to keep my regular posting schedule. I hope to use this blog as a journal to reflect and observe on my trip as time and energy allow, so please excuse in advance the erratic posting schedule and sure-to-be-awful grammar, spelling, and general quality of writing.

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Awesome horse head pillow that every ED should have

A while ago, I wrote about people’s misuse of the word “literally,” a condition that has reached pandemic level, with even very smart people saying stupid things like, “My board is so great, I’m literally in love with all my board members.” I carry small rocks in my jacket, just so I can throw them at people who use “literally” wrong.

Well, after writing that post, dozens of readers wrote to thank me for raising awareness of the issue, and by “dozens,” I mean two people. So I thought we should shed light on other common grammatical mistakes that occur in our field, where 90% of the work is done by talking and writing.

Now, first of all, a disclaimer: I am not a grammarian, and I don’t claim to have perfect grammar or anything. Anyone who scans NWB posts will see countless mistakes.

Second of all, not all grammar needs to be correct all the time. Sometimes for the sake of flow I make grammatical mistakes on purpose, e.g., “Someone did not pay for their ticket to our fundraising dinner, so I am going to hunt them down and put this horse head in their bed.”

I know that should be “Someone did not pay for his or her ticket, so I am going to hunt him or her down and put this horse head in his or her bed.” But that sounds ridiculous and cumbersome, so for casual conversations, I’ll use the wrong subject/verb agreement on purpose and I don’t mind if others do the same.

This also applies to things like ending a sentence with a preposition, like “That’s what I was thinking of,” because it’s just sounds dumb to say “That is of which I was thinking.”

I’m also not addressing basic laziness in grammar. For example, most people who mistake “your” and “you’re” or “their,” “there,” and “they’re” are just lazy in proofreading, not actually ignorant of the rules. “It’s” and “its” are another example, I think.

What I want to talk about are mistakes that nice, intelligent, well-respected, good-looking, and very hygienic people make all the time without knowing that it literally makes me want to punch them in the neck. Please stop making these mistakes:

The point being is… 

The point being is that we may need to stage an intervention for our board chair’s habit of whittling wooden animals during meetings. Wrong! “The point being is” is redundant and stupid sounding. Drop the “being” or the “is;” they cannot coexist in the same sentence. Just stop it! Stop saying “the point being,” because if I were to get a nickel donated to my organization for every time I hear it used wrong, I could probably stop writing grants. Actually, no, because I’ll probably just get 40 or 50 cents per year, which is not enough to fund our programs…Whatever, the point is that we all need to stop saying, “the point being is that.”

The amount of people…

The amount of people who came to our puppet show fundraiser was disappointing. Wrong! You mean “the number of people.” Amount is used for non-countable stuff, like water, or love, or organic hemp milk. For stuff you can count, like people or bunnies or cartons of organic hemp milk, you use “number.”

Less and fewer…

Same thing, use “less” when you can’t count something and “fewer” when you can. For example this would be wrong: “Maybe we should have had less puppets that looked like local program officers.” You can count individual puppets, so replace “less” with “fewer.”

Who and that…

Our target population is teenagers that have a fear of clowns. Fun fact, the fear of clowns is called “Coulrophobia,” with “coulro” likely coming from the Ancient Greek word κωλοβαθριστής, which means “stilt-walkers,” who are very creepy. Anyway, out of respect to human beings, use “who” when you’re talking about people and “that” when you’re talking about non-people. Animals are negotiable, depending on how much you love them, so “we help dogs that are abandoned” and “we help dogs who are abandoned” are both correct.

Nauseated vs. nauseous…

This grant application is making me nauseous. Wrong! It’s making you nauseated. Nauseous means something can cause other people to be nauseated. Toxic wastes are nauseous, along with rotting fish, ammonia, molds, and poorly planned special events. They make you nauseated. So just think, when you say something makes you “nauseous,” you’re saying that something makes you smell like rotting fish.

Redundant acronyms…

One time, we were involved with the Refugee Impact Grant (RIG), which everyone called the RIG grant, which irritated many people, and by many people, I mean mainly me. The G in RIG already stands for “Grant,” so RIG grant is redundant. Other redundant acronyms are “PIN number” (PIN stands for Personal Identification Number) and HIV virus (the V stands for virus). Also, ATM machine, SAT test, and LCD display.

I wish it was…

This is a tricky one, since it involves the subjunctive, a form of grammar to express stuff like hopes and wishes. It is so complicated that only four people in the US can use it perfectly: “It is important that everyone donate;” “I wish she were a board member.” So I can understand why most people get it wrong. No one will look down on you if you do not master this, but you get this right, you can earn some grammar brownie points that can be used for other stuff you get wrong. Just remember that it’s “I wish it were Friday” and not “I wish it was Friday,” and “I wish Bill Gates were my BFF” and not “I wish Bill Gates was my BFF.”

Between you and I…

The number one most annoying grammatical mistake, after “literally,” is the wrong usage of “you and I” or “he and I” or “they and I” or whatever. Seriously, I will throw live scorpions at the next person who says something like “Here’s a photo of my board chair and I playing dueling harps at our last retreat” or “Next Tuesday works for Bob and I to meet with you to discuss starting an emu farm as an earned-income strategy.” I don’t know where I will get live scorpions, but I will.

This mistake is a result of the aspersion we are taught to cast on people who say things like “Me and Josh are going to get a drink after our 10am staff meeting.” Only ignorant degenerates stay stuff like that! Do you want to be an ignorant degenerate?! Huh?! Do you want to marry your sister and make moonshine out of possum milk or whatever moonshine is made of?! Of course you don’t! So you learned to always say things all proper, like “Josh and I are going to get a drink after our 10am staff meeting.” Now you’re hyper-vigilant and you think that you can NEVER ever say “me and Josh” ever again.

And this is why we have so many great people, who are smart, whom I look up to, who get this wrong, confusing subjects (I, he, she) and objects (me, him, her). Here’s an easy way to remember: Take out the other person, and see what sounds better: “Here’s a photograph of me” sounds better than “here’s a photograph of I,” so “Here’s a photograph of me and Bill Gates” and not “here’s a photograph of Bill Gates and I.”

Next Tuesday works for Bob; next Tuesday works for me; next Tuesday works for Bob and me to discuss starting an emu farm as an earned-income strategy. Please pay attention to this, even if you forget everything else I just wrote about. Because if you say stuff like “Between you and I, nonprofit work is fun,” you might as well break out those vittles and start milking them possums.

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Related post: This Literally Makes My Head Explode

An Executive Director’s Self-Evaluation

Hi everyone. For the first time in my eight years with the organization, my board has decided to conduct a performance review. These are two words that send chills up and down every Executive Director’s spine, on par with “budget deficit” and “annual event.” The board had a clandestine meeting three weeks ago to talk about my performance as an ED. Soon they will meet with me to deliver feedback.

I’m nervous. I just know they’re going to say something like, “Vu, you’ve developed a reputation as a drunkard and a loudmouth. That’s affecting VFA’s image. We need you to stop mixing drinks at work. Also, funders are saying you’ve been dressing up as Oliver Twist during site visits and literally begging for money.”

As part of the ED review, the board asked me to fill out a self-evaluation. This is a very important part of this process. Never do a performance evaluation without asking the evaluee to self-evaluate. Mainly because it’s very hard to remember all the stuff they did. More importantly, though, the distance between one’s perception of oneself and others’ perception of one may be significant, and highlighting and discussing any significant differences in perception is helpful to fostering personal and professional growth and/or bitterness.

The evaluation form is three pages long, and at the end, it asks for a summary of three key strengths and three key areas of improvement. I am listing them here, with the hope that it will inspire EDs and staff of other organizations to self-reflect. Only when we stop to take a break and reflect on our strengths and weaknesses will we improve and/or grow resentful:

My strengths this past year:

Strength 1: Empowering staff to make decisions and take ownership. This involves coaching skills, such as asking strategic questions to encourage staff to self-problem-solve instead of solving problems for them. For example:

Staff: One of the tutors in our program is constantly late and has a bad attitude. What should I do?

Me: Well, what do you think you should do?

Staff: I was thinking of having a one-on-one with her to get her perspective. What do you think?

Me: I could tell you, but first, what do you think I should think?

Strength 2: Fostering a culture of strong teamwork. This involves encouraging staff to collaborate on projects, support one another, and mutually resolve problem:

Staff 1: Vu, tell Staff 2 she needs to be in VFA’s monthly video update

Me: Please be in the video update, Staff 2.

Staff 2: I don’t want to be videotaped!

Me: She doesn’t want to be videotaped.

Staff 1: Vuuuuuuu!!

Me: You two figure it out! This custom-framed unicorn poster is not going to Velcro-tape itself up on the office wall!

Strength 3: Conserving VFA resources in order to focus the team on our mission and not get distracted.

Potential partner: Hello Mr. Le, we are conducting a community-wide research effort to improve community safety, and we need to start by gathering input from communities of color. Can VFA help us by organizing—

Me: A focus group of some of our clients?

Potential partner: Yes, exactly!

Me: How much are you providing in funding?

Potential partner: Fun…ding…?

Me: (Click)

My areas for improvement:

Area 1: Not letting personal pet peeves, such as when people use “literally” wrong, negatively affect the organization:

Potential donor: Hi, I visited your amazing after-school program, and I want to make a donation to VFA.

Me: Aw, thank you! That’s so thoughtful.

Potential donor: My pleasure. You guys are literally building bridges between different cultures

Me: We don’t want your money.

Area 2: Being more open and receptive to constructive feedback:

Colleague: My table overall had a good time at your dinner, but there were just way too many speeches. They dragged the evening down and sapped the energy out of the room:

Me: Your FACE sapped the energy out of the room.

Colleague: Also, you may want to spend more funds on the audio-visual stuff, since the sound was rough and muffled.

Me: Your FACE is rough and muffled.

Colleague: And you should put up more signs so guests know where to go. There weren’t enough signs.

Me: Your FACE is not enough signs.

Area 3: Improving on time management, keeping better track of outcomes, setting and meeting goals more often, being more effective at fundraising, spending more time cultivating donors, providing more professional development for staff, better engagement of the board, less watching of Portlandia during work hours, improving the financial management system and delivering reports on time for board meetings, increasing frequency of communication with the community, and coming to work with hangovers less often.

Well, there you go, that’s the most honest self-assessment I’ve done in a long time. I hope the board is satisfied. I’ll work on those and whatever other reasonable things they bring up, but I have my principles and there are certain things I am not going to compromise on. For instance, I am not going stop our “casual weekdays” dress code, and I’m not going to disband the Nonprofit Fight Club that I started with some other EDs.