“I wanted to share a story with you about Rachel.” (Not her real
name.)
That’s how an appeal letter I received in early April began.
The appeal asked me to provide support for Rachel, an entrepreneur in an
African country.
Apart from the passive tense (“I wanted to share”), what is most jarring
about the opening line is how if fails to immediately recognize the pandemic crisis we are facing
in here in Canada.
No acknowledgement our lives are all disrupted, with most people working from home and some already unemployed. All of us worried, anxious and uncertain.
The writer—the CEO of the NGO—never once acknowledged my situation, or
how I might be feeling.
In normal times, it would be a fine appeal letter. But these are not
normal times.
To her (slight) credit, the CEO did note the world has changed since Rachel’s story was first
written—for her. But there was no acknowledgement it has changed for me, too.
In fact, it never even used the words “virus,” “COVID-19” or “pandemic”
at all. I needed to infer that's what changed for Rachel.
In fact, the only reference to the pandemic was a plea in the P.S. for me to give online so staff wouldn't have to come into the office to handle the mail. That and delays in the postal systems, which means they don't get money fast enough.
In fact, the only reference to the pandemic was a plea in the P.S. for me to give online so staff wouldn't have to come into the office to handle the mail. That and delays in the postal systems, which means they don't get money fast enough.
Of course, noting the impact of the pandemic here in Canada would
not change things. There’s nothing they can do about it; none of us can.
But not acknowledging how it is affecting donors is a huge mistake.
It suggests they don't care about me, my employment, my business (if I own one), my health, or my ability to even give at a time of such great uncertainty.
It was tone-deaf, in other words.
To be clear I’m not suggesting groups stop fundraising; important programs still need to be supported.
It was tone-deaf, in other words.
To be clear I’m not suggesting groups stop fundraising; important programs still need to be supported.
And I realize fundraising appeals are planned months in advance. It can
be hard to stop the machinery once it is set in motion. (But it’s not impossible.)
So if I'm so smart, what would I have done? Thanks for asking! Here's my suggestions.
First, right at the top ask about me: How I'm doing. Acknowledge these are strange and difficult times for everyone.
Second, be vulnerable. Acknowledge your own fears and uncertainties personally, and for the vulnerable people your organization supports.
First, right at the top ask about me: How I'm doing. Acknowledge these are strange and difficult times for everyone.
Second, be vulnerable. Acknowledge your own fears and uncertainties personally, and for the vulnerable people your organization supports.
After that, tell me about people like Rachel and the challenges facing her and
others like her in the developing world—challenges far beyond what I am facing here in Canada.
Then invite me to continue to stand with Rachel, even if I can't give as much as I ordinarily do. (Acknowledge my income and finances have been affected the pandemic.) I am still part of the solution, even I can’t give as much as I used to.
That's what I would do. How about you? What fundraising approaches are you using these days?
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