“Our Comfort is Leading Us Down a Dangerous Path”: Philanthropy in a Changing Global Order
This is an edited and updated version of Naila Farouky’s keynote address delivered at the 5th African Philanthropy Conference on July 31, 2024. You can watch the entire speech on YouTube.
Good afternoon.
Today, I want to focus on philanthropy in a changing global order: global governance, peace, and cooperation. For context, I lead the Arab Foundations Forum, a network of Arab foundations, NGOs, and civil society and philanthropy actors working across the Arab region. I am half-Palestinian on my father’s side, and half-Egyptian on my mother’s. As you can probably imagine, I have spent the entire past year in complete and utter horror.
Nothing about my world has been “normal” since October 7th of last year. Nothing about my work has been normal. Nothing about how I envision my future and that of my fellow Palestinians — family, friends, and colleagues alike—has been normal. By extension, nothing I have known, believed in, or hoped for in my sector and professionally has been normal. In many ways, I’ve been so moved and am eternally grateful for some of the most stalwart solidarity by global peers whose support I will never forget. In other, more painful, ways, I’ve been horrified by the silence or indifference of peers at best, and outright animosity and vitriol at worst.
Each day of the past year has proven to be more horrific and more painful than the one before it. I honestly don’t know how many more images of headless babies, and innocent, mourning mothers and fathers we can bear to witness without being permanently scarred and traumatized.
I have spent a lot of time thinking how all of this relates to those of us who represent the philanthropy and development sector. By sharing these reflections with you, I hope it will serve as an open invitation to you all to share your thoughts with me and with each other in the days to come, and beyond. What I want us to think about and reflect on together is this:
We are on the precipice of a global shift.
I know we all feel it.
I know we all know it.
But I’m not sure we know what to do about it.
And, more importantly, I don’t know if we know how to do anything about it. I’m hoping that by sharing our thoughts and ideas with each other, we will find the fixes and come up with some urgently needed solutions to how we can address this shift and how we can build a new world order that improves on the one we already have. Because, honestly, this one is failing us.
I don’t want to make it sound as though I think Gaza is the only crisis in the world today. God knows we are faced with many—some of which are taking place on [the African] continent. I think of the Congo, Sudan, Yemen, now Lebanon, to name just a few. But for some reason, Gaza has found itself in the most unfortunate position of serving as an example, not only as a litmus test for moral clarity and justice, but also as a reflection of the various aspects of our lives that are impacted by it—our politics, our values, our activism and, yes, our philanthropy.
What the genocide in Gaza has unmasked, at least for me, is the failure of so many of the institutions I was taught to rely on. It has forced me to confront some very glaring questions, like: How can we trust and depend on the universities we’ve been told are the beacons of intellectual supremacy when we witness these same institutions crack down with violence on the students they are obligated by a duty of care to protect?
What kind of a world is it where the violence is being brought upon a population, most of whom are under the age of 21, as they protest an unjust war and the systematic murdering of a significant population of children? Where are we headed when institutions that are meant to enlighten and empower our youth are, in fact, literally beating the morality and humanity out of them? And, importantly, why are we continuing to fund these institutions?
Beyond universities, there is the issue of banking and the mechanisms that have systematically created insurmountable obstacles for our sector—particularly in the Global South—and placed our work and efforts in jeopardy based on the whims and racially motivated prejudices of those who control them. Why do we have to continue to rely on these institutions? You know that we can build alternative models, right?
There’s literally no rule that says we can’t. (As a side note, am I the only one who didn’t realize how many universities were investing in genocide and apartheid? Because that was a shocker for me.)
We can encourage and take pride in alternative educational models and institutions that support and defend our youth and empower them, rather than suppress them and kowtow to oppressive and genocidal regimes. We have these institutions in our regions, and they will surpass the Harvards and the Columbias, because they can. And they should. And as a sector, we should be doing everything we can to make sure these institutions are well funded and supported.
Who says we can’t have a banking model that respects our needs and our social and cultural contexts? What would happen if enough of us were to take a stand against Western, imperialist hegemonic systems and just said, "No thanks. We'll find our own way'?
There are those among us who are already thinking of ways to design alternative financing models for the sector. We should be putting our efforts towards helping and supporting these groups. Again, who says we can’t have a banking model that respects our needs and our social and cultural contexts? What would happen if enough of us were to take a stand against Western, imperialist hegemonic systems and just said, “No thanks. We’ll find our own way”?
I don’t say this to imply a separation or a scenario of us versus them—far from it. But what I am hoping to explore, and want to build momentum around, is a reality where the shift of power—the changing landscape, where the center of gravity, metaphorically speaking, is no longer housed in the Global North—is acknowledged.
With that acknowledgement, I invite our Global North peers to step up to the responsibilities that come with having had the privilege of power for so long. Use that privilege to empower your peers in the Global South. Share your hard-earned wisdom and the power of your experience to uplift and support our success.
Like it or not, these shifts are coming. They are uncomfortable, I know, but we could all use a bit of discomfort because our comfort is leading us down a pretty dangerous path. This brings me back to Gaza, because it serves as an example, once again, of what can happen when we worry too much about making folks uncomfortable.
As a point of comparison, when Russia invaded Ukraine, the response from the global philanthropy sector was astounding. I serve on eight international boards, and every single one of them that represents organizations in the Global North had something to say about it. Strong, determined, and clear statements were immediately released. Alliances and funding agreements with Russian donors were cancelled in acts of defiant moral clarity (and maybe some virtue signaling), and almost 120 billion dollars of philanthropic support have been committed for Ukraine in that time.
This is what the sector is capable of. One guess how things have played out in the sector since October 7th.
Exactly.
None of those things happened. Of the Global North boards I serve on, not one made any meaningful statement of solidarity for Palestine and the genocide against the Palestinian people. There have been some lukewarm statements—mostly pledging support for some variation of a “both sides” scenario—and almost no meaningful philanthropic money has been mobilized to support Palestine.
Palestinian or not, this sickens me. And no amount of hemming and hawing will deter me from asking the obvious questions:
Is it because we’re not white?
Is it because we’re not rich?
Is it because our babies are brown and snot-faced and dirty?
And what about our babies who are green-eyed and fair-skinned? Because many Palestinians are.
I don’t have adequate words to describe the pain I feel when I see my people having to resort to begging for the world’s empathy. Because if you know anything about Palestinians, you know we don’t want sympathy.
You may not notice this, but when our fundraisers are shared along with pictures of blonde or red-haired, blue- and green-eyed children, we know these pictures are intentional. We know they are shared in the hopes of moving you to see us as humans. Because we know the world is inclined to assign more value to those children than the ones that are darker skinned and more “terrorist” tinged.
It’s tragic, but it’s very true. And it’s despicable.
When I consider the global institutional philanthropy response to this genocide—even as part of a larger consideration on how we function as global citizens beyond this sector—I feel qahr. But I also feel, surprisingly, a sense of hope.
There’s a word in Arabic—al qahr—which has no translation in any other language. At least, nothing suitable enough to encompass the levels of pain, helplessness, despair, and anguish the word evokes. When I consider the global institutional philanthropy response to this genocide—even as part of a larger consideration on how we function as global citizens beyond this sector—I feel qahr. But I also feel, surprisingly, a sense of hope.
Let me explain. I feel hopeful amidst this tragedy because of the privilege of my position. Yes, the ability to work within a sector that is agile, flexible, can mobilize capital relatively quickly, and is well networked to support large segments of communities in need is an absolute privilege that none of us want, necessarily, but we are lucky to have it. Imagine feeling this qahr and having no avenues to channel it? Torture.
I’m also hopeful because, in contrast to the lack of any support from the philanthropy sector as a whole (I am not negating the efforts made by the handful of philanthropies that have actually done something—I know they exist, and they are wonderful—but it’s not enough), do you know who has stepped in to support Palestine? Do you know how almost 120,000 Palestinians have been able to flee Gaza to safety in Egypt? Individual crowdfunding. Everyday folks—my friends, your families, our colleagues—have stepped up in a big way to fill the glaring gap our sector has left.
And while this gives me hope in the humanity that abounds, it also hurts me to see my people having to beg like this for life-saving support that could so easily be mobilized if the sector wasn’t so damn cowardly.
So, what does all this mean in the broader sense as it relates to our beloved sector? Beyond the things we’ve already discussed—alternative models, reimagined institutions, and more vocal advocacy—what are some of the other truths we need to confront and address?
One of the things I’ve been thinking about and really pondering is how do we—as we design and reimagine a sector in a shifting global reality—ensure that the models we usher in are stronger, more equitable, and more inclusive than the ones we have now? How do we incorporate the best of the models that already exist and include the parts of us and our contexts that aren’t represented? Short of burning the whole thing down—which I’ve been falsely accused of encouraging—what are the ways we can build a better sector?
We’ve heard about radical movements in our sector to “decolonize aid” and “shift the power”. These movements are radical only because they have not been previously articulated in the ways we see them today. They are the embodiments of the things we’ve whispered in the past—the words we’ve used to declare our desires but haven’t been bold enough to utter aloud.
We’re uttering them more loudly now. This is part of the shift we’re witnessing, but it’s not enough. As someone who comes from a long line of colonized identities—Palestinian and Egyptian—even I’ve had to go through a process of decolonizing my own brain. Before I can decolonize aid, I need to disavow myself of all the notions I’ve previously held sacred because they have not served me. Quite the contrary, they have oppressed me. And I have only myself to blame for that.
When I tell you, the realization and epiphany that dawned on me when I realized that I had harbored negative images and perceptions of my own people for so long, I am almost embarrassed to admit it. And this realization came to me in a very vulnerable way. Early on in this genocide, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably at images of Palestinian men in Gaza as they cradled, lovingly comforted and tended to young children—in some cases, they were holding murdered babies. And I recognized in myself the fact that I had never considered my fellow Palestinian men as tender, loving, affectionate beings. Somehow, the tropes the West has peddled to us had made their way and embedded themselves into my own consciousness and perception. The biggest lie the West has ever had me believe was that my people were somehow less worthy of love, compassion, and respect. I will never forgive myself for allowing that. But I will also never allow it to happen again.
The systems, institutions, donors, funding mechanisms, all of that. If it doesn’t serve us and our needs, if it doesn’t respect us, then we reject it. This is not a radical suggestion. It’s simply a notion of self-respect, and we’ve earned it.
Divorcing ourselves from these long-held myths about ourselves is the first step towards decolonizing our sector. We will do that not only by not allowing it to infiltrate our thoughts about ourselves, but by calling it out when it’s being done by others—our own included. Again, who’s going to stop us? We have only ourselves to hold accountable.
So, what does this look like? For one thing, it looks like taking a stand against the things that don’t serve us. The systems, institutions, donors, funding mechanisms, all of that. If it doesn’t serve us and our needs, if it doesn’t respect us, then we reject it. This is not a radical suggestion. It’s simply a notion of self-respect, and we’ve earned it.
For another thing, we must collaborate. Truly, enough already. We talk about this incessantly, and we do it in bits and pieces, but we must be more purposeful and thoughtful about how we collaborate. In that spirit, here’s my pledge to you: At every Arab Foundations Forum meeting—which we host every two years—I will designate at least two sessions for my peers and colleagues from across the Global South to curate and host. Whatever you want to talk about, whatever topics are relevant to your context, whatever issues you feel the rest of us need to know about or can support you in—you will have that opportunity to share it with our network and we will highlight and amplify your voices, your causes, your needs. I make this commitment to you today and I urge you all to reciprocate in the ways that make sense for you.
Another thing I will commit to: We will feature your articles, your blog posts, your research, your calls for proposals, your perspectives—just send them our way and we will amplify the heck out of them! Find me, connect with me on LinkedIn, I will direct you to our amazing Comms Director, and you can be sure your voices will be featured in our quarterly newsletters and across other platforms. These are simple things we can do, and it’s also the least we can do for each other.
Beyond that, we need to remember that we are connected in so many ways. Our lives are connected. What happens over there absolutely matters over here. If we ignore Gaza today, then we’re allowing ourselves to ignore Congo, Sudan, Yemen, Lebanon, and wherever else our attention is needed.
My advocacy helps us all.
Your research supports mine.
My data will inform you.
Beyond that, my network is incredibly rich with lessons and expertise that can benefit you, and I know your networks can offer the same. One thing is certain: We will not be decolonizing anyone or shifting anything alone.
So, let us commit to doing away with the platitudes and, instead, make declarative commitments to how we will be guided by actions. Let us take the Shift the Power movement literally and enact the strategies that will actually bring about these shifts.
Let us implement the principles that form the foundations for decolonizing aid and act on them every day in the work that we do and the people we work with.
Let us imagine the ways in which, together, we can build mechanisms that will be readily deployed when the time comes for our communities in need to rebuild, Gaza being chief among them, but not alone.
Let us reject the funding that is accompanied by restrictions that marginalize us and negate our cultural values and contexts.
Let us reject the systems and institutions that oppress us into silence and make it vulgar for us to speak out against genocide.
I’d like to say thank you so much for indulging me today and, as I will always say until it comes true, may we see a brighter, more just future for all—and Free Palestine!