Ethically Bankrupt: How Fundraising Leadership is Failing Us

Originally written in September 2022. Still painfully relevant today.

Note to the reader:
This weekend, I spoke with several women—each harmed by the same man, decades apart. Each failed by nonprofit leadership in this province. And each met with the same response from our sector: silence.

I wrote this piece in the fall of 2022. Sadly, not much has changed. But this weekend reminded me how deeply these words still resonate.

I have more to say—and I will say it.
But for now, I’ll let this speak for itself.

To the lawyers reading: I mean every word.

And I will not leave this sector to those who say,

“It may not be ethical, but it’s not illegal.”

NEVER.

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September 2022

On the East Coast of Canada, we’re still cleaning up from Hurricane Fiona—one of the most devastating storms in our history. Communities are torn apart. Infrastructure is wrecked. Many are still without power.

I was lucky. I suffered no damage. But I see the helpers—nonprofit staff out in communities, doing what they always do: showing up, filling the gaps, giving everything they’ve got. They deserve our gratitude.

But this piece isn’t about Fiona.
And it’s not a tribute to front-line nonprofit workers—though many deserve one.

This is about a different kind of disaster. A quieter, more corrosive one.
This is about the ethical rot in fundraising leadership.

“Ethics is about knowing what you have the right to do, and what is right to do.” – Potter Stewart

Fundraising is a strange profession. We’re brokers between mission and money. We help donors feel good while trying to meet the real, urgent needs of our communities.

Major gift fundraising is even stranger. It demands we cater to power—to charm wealthy, often entitled people into writing large checks. Fundraisers are told to be flexible, to reshape programs to suit donor whims.

Over time, the message becomes clear:
Keep the donor happy.

This dynamic is a setup for abuse.

I’ve written about my own experience. As co-chair of the AFP Fundraiser Bill of Rights Task Force, I hear similar stories all the time—of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, and trauma. These aren’t anonymous complaints. They come from smart, talented professionals on the front lines—being ignored or exploited so leadership can hit KPIs.

They are fighting to fix the system from within.

But where are the leaders?

Where are the CEOs, board chairs, executive directors?

They’re not in the room.
They’re not at the conferences.
They’re not listening.
And worse—they’re not protecting us.

They aren’t saying no to donors who cross the line.
They’re naming buildings after them.

Last week, my former employer accepted a multi-million-dollar gift from a man who sexually harassed and sexually propositioned me—repeatedly. I wrote about him in 2019. Others have come forward since then, sharing horrifying experiences. His behavior was well known. Yet the organization celebrated his donation.

His name—alongside his mother’s— will now be donned on a new healthcare facility in our city.

Now, every time I see that name, I’ll be reminded of what happened to me—and of who this sector really protects.

This isn’t an isolated case. I’ve watched organizations accept gifts from donors and corporations that contradict everything they say they believe in. Why? Because the pressure to land “transformational gifts” outweighs the obligation to protect staff or stay true to mission.

This is the creep of corporate logic in nonprofit governance.
It’s board members chasing numbers over integrity.
It’s leadership afraid to be political.

And it’s abhorrent.

The fish rots from the head down.

We are failing our missions because we are failing our people.
We are failing our values because we are failing to lead.
We are failing to live up to our own promises around justice, equity, and inclusion.

How can we claim to be a sector for good if we can’t even be good people?

Sometimes doing the right thing isn’t loud. It’s a quiet refusal.
Sometimes its a voice in my head that just says “keep going.”

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So, what do we do?

Do we leave?
Do we give up?

I don’t think so.

If we walk away, we leave the sector in the hands of the same people who created this mess.
But if we stay—we fight for what this sector could become:

Braver.
More just.
Unapologetically political.
A sector that pushes governments and corporations to do better.
A sector that stops glorifying wealth and starts centering dignity.

I’m not leaving.
I’m staying.
I’m writing.
I’m speaking.

And I refuse to let people without moral courage shape our future.

I will not be silenced.
I will not be intimidated.
I will not let this be our legacy.

In Solidarity my friends,

Liz

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