America turns 250. It's a milestone to be celebrated, and an opportunity to be honest about what you've endured, what's broken and what we're determined to fix. Trust in almost every major American institution it is eroded. Confidence the governmentmedia, higher education, businesses and religious institutions weak across the board for many years, often for good reason, but it leaves communities unsure of the organizations that claim to work for them.
In that space, people often look to nonprofits and philanthropy for hope. They are closer to communities than governments, more goal-driven than markets and the smarter of the two. But if the philanthropic sector hopes to help rebuild confidence in American institutions, it must begin by admitting that good intentions are not enough. Non-profits and funders must demonstrate that their decisions are transparent, their work is effective and the people most affected by that work have a real hand in shaping it.
I have spent most of my life on both sides of philanthropy: writing checks and chasing them. I have seen generosity change lives when directed with humility, urgency and respect for those it is meant to serve, and the organizations entrusted to do the work. I've also seen how easily perceived fairness can be mistaken for accountability, and how nonprofits and charities can mimic the very failures they aim to address.
Americans expect institutions to demonstrate impact rather than simply express good intentions. Donors want proof that their contributions create measurable change, communities expect a meaningful voice in decisions that affect them and policy makers want proof that non-profit partnerships deliver results and compassion. If philanthropy is to help rebuild trust in America, it will not assume trust because its purpose is to serve the public. It should earn the same trust as all other institutions.
The nonprofit sector is huge. Nearly two million organizations across the country reach out to nearly every area of American life, from health care and hunger relief to education, disaster relief, the arts, civic engagement and faith communities. The sector collectively benefits from the strong belief that because an organization exists to do good, it must be doing good. That thinking can also be dangerous.
Nonprofits can develop some of the same habits that have undermined the confidence of other American institutions: they can be different; they may not be clear about how decisions are made; they can protect their buildings more carefully than they can assess their impact.
Trust breaks down in different ways throughout the philanthropic ecosystem. From the donor's seat, it erodes when the strings attached to the check force the organization more than it can handle, or when donors refuse to support the infrastructure that makes nonprofits work better: technology, talent, financial systems and testing. From the executive chair, trust is eroded when organizations chase restricted funding until their goals are distorted, or when leaders rely on good deeds instead of building discipline to question whether their work is actually working.
Philanthropy is too important to be put on probation. If this sector wants to help rebuild public trust, it must be held to the same level as any other institution with power, influence and responsibility.
I see this tension clearly in my work leading God's Love We Bring. The organization was founded in New York City during the height of the AIDS epidemic, when fear, stigma and neglect were as devastating as the disease itself. There are too many people who are left without the care and dignity they deserve. The first mission was straightforward: to cook and bring food—and dignity—to people too sick to feed themselves.
That creative attitude—showing up, doing something and treating people as if their lives mattered—is still the moral center of the organization. But the continued evolution of the organization provides a comprehensive lesson in this field. As society's needs changed, the campaign expanded beyond HIV/AIDS to help people living with cancer, heart disease, diabetes and other serious illnesses. Today, millions of medically prepared meals are delivered each year, treating food as an important part of health care because the organization remains responsive to evidence and the people it serves rather than treating its innovation model as a set matter. That evolution came from being close, humble and disciplined to let the people we serve lead the way.
The lesson goes beyond any one organization. Across the country, local nonprofits often see gaps in services before larger systems do. They know which families fall through the cracks, which older adults live alone, which patients struggle after diagnosis and which communities are not reached by conventional means. That closeness is an asset and a liability. It always requires asking the hard questions: Who decides what communities need? Whose vocabulary strategy? Who is listening? And who should be held accountable when programs fail to deliver the intended results? If the industry wants to help address America's trust deficit, it must ask those questions.
The relationships that make this work possible cross all borders. They are how trust is rebuilt. Government brings access, stability and legitimacy to society. Philanthropy brings flexibility, experimentation and urgency. Businesses bring expertise, technology and investment. Community organizations and volunteers bring living experiences and human connections that cannot be replicated externally. When those relationships are built on mutual respect and shared accountability instead of funding, people experience something they've been longing for: institutions that feel responsive, results-based and ultimately more human.
As America marks its 250th anniversary, it is tempting to frame public trust as a national problem that requires national solutions. But nowhere is the work done. Much of the repair work will happen close to where people live, through organizations that know their communities well enough to serve them honestly and are disciplined enough to be accountable when they go wrong.
The next chapter of American life will require more than remembering. It will require institutional management, public trust, social responsibility and more. That work will not be done by the greatest or the most powerful. It will be done by people who lead organizations who are humble enough to listen, honest enough to measure up and committed enough to stay.
