In these perilous times, how can social justice philanthropy show up and be effective? Understandably, the focus tends to be on grantmaking. But philanthropy’s power isn’t limited to grantmaking. Its financial clout, especially its investment decisions, can shift political terrain—and history offers proof.
Divestment works—not just by removing capital, but by changing public perception, pressuring institutions, and stigmatizing injustice.
In the 1980s, divestment helped bring down South African apartheid. Students, activists, and local governments pressured institutions to withdraw investments from companies profiting from the regime. By 1988, over 150 US colleges had divested, as had at least 68 cities, 21 states, and more than 100 US companies. Divestment wasn’t the only factor that ended apartheid—the anti-apartheid movement within South Africa of course was the leading reason—but it did help isolate an unjust system and remove resources that sustained it.
Today, climate justice organizers are deploying the same strategy. In just a decade, over 1,600 institutions with $40 trillion in assets have committed to divesting from fossil fuels. Driven by grassroots campaigns, this movement has reframed coal, oil, and gas as not only environmentally destructive, but morally indefensible. Every divestment commitment sends a clear message: Profiting from climate destruction is unacceptable.
A similar story is playing out in the fight against mass incarceration and immigrant detention. Activists have successfully pressured major banks to stop financing private prison giants like GEO Group and CoreCivic. In 2019, under public pressure, banks like JP Morgan Chase and Wells Fargo began pulling billions from the industry.
These examples show how divestment works—not just by removing capital, but by changing public perception, pressuring institutions, and stigmatizing injustice. Philanthropy should see divestment and values-aligned investing not as radical, but as proven tactics to fight repression when policy fails. Moving money is a powerful act of resistance.
Every investment is a choice. In times of crisis, leaving vast sums to passively support the status quo is a failure of leadership.
Aligning Endowments with Justice
Most philanthropic capital (about 95 percent) sits in endowments, invested for maximum return. Too often, these investments contradict foundations’ missions. A foundation may fund environmental justice groups while investing in oil and gas. It may support immigrant rights but profit from private detention centers. Such contradictions are untenable.
Certainly, some foundations are modeling a better way. The AJL Foundation, based in Denver, CO, holds “positive social impact and financial return as equally weighted objectives,” investing in alignment with its justice mission. Similarly, the Kataly Foundation has placed 90 percent of its $235 million reserve in values-aligned investments, divesting from surveillance, prisons, and militarization, and reinvesting in green bonds and community-led financial institutions.
These shifts also challenge the myth that mission-aligned investing sacrifices financial returns. The Rockefeller Brothers Fund, for example, saw strong endowment performance after divesting from fossil fuels.
The takeaway is clear: Foundations have a moral obligation to align all assets—not just grant dollars—with the values they espouse.
Every investment is a choice. In times of crisis, leaving vast sums to passively support the status quo is a failure of leadership. Justice requires using every dollar to heal rather than harm.
Funding Beyond the Nonprofit: Resourcing Movements for the Long Haul
Moral clarity also requires rethinking how we fund social change. Many of today’s most urgent movements don’t fit neatly into traditional nonprofit structures—and for good reason. The 501c3 nonprofit model comes with limits on political activity, burdensome compliance, and a bias toward professionalized, often White-led institutions.
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The “nonprofit-industrial complex” can neuter radical work. Indeed, it has been argued that a core purpose of the nonprofit-industrial complex is to do just that. As activist and Seattle University law professor Dean Spade has noted, “Nonprofitization…is understood to be a response to the revolutionary movements of the mid-20th century.”
Even worse, President Donald Trump’s administration is now attacking nonprofits outright. When even “safe” advocacy is under fire, philanthropy must respond with creativity and courage.
That means expanding beyond the nonprofit model. Fiscal sponsorships can allow informal groups to receive support without incorporation. More funders should also embrace 501c4 organizations, which can engage in lobbying and electoral work that is essential to defending democracy—but remains woefully underfunded. Donors must not let tax deductions dictate their priorities.
When movements are under attack, investing in their leadership and capacity is the highest form of solidarity.
It also means moving beyond short-term grant cycles. One-year funding keeps movements in a state of precarity. Instead, philanthropy should commit to multiyear, flexible funding that offers stability, builds capacity, and supports infrastructure.
We also need to rethink philanthropy itself—not as a transactional model, but as a shared ecosystem for long-term change. Participatory grantmaking, pooled funds, regional solidarity funds, and community-governed endowments all offer models for democratizing resources and reducing competition.
Philanthropy should also invest in mutual aid networks, which mobilize faster and more effectively than traditional institutions—especially in crises. Supporting these grassroots formations means giving up some control, but the return is resilience and trust.
Finally, funders must resource the connective tissue of movement building: leadership development, care infrastructure, security, convenings, and cross-movement strategy. These aren’t always flashy or “measurable,” but they are essential to long-term power building. When movements are under attack, investing in their leadership and capacity is the highest form of solidarity.
From Statements to Solidarity: A Call for Courage
In 2020, after George Floyd’s murder, corporations and foundations pledged billions toward racial justice. But four years later, those promises ring hollow. Of nearly $50 billion pledged, over 90 percent took the form of loans or investments—not direct grants to Black-led organizations. Symbolic support has rarely translated into sustained action.
Philanthropy must do better. The path forward requires courage, not caution. Here’s what that looks like:
- Align investments with values.
Divest from industries that fuel harm—fossil fuels, private prisons, surveillance, disinformation media—and reinvest in community-rooted solutions. Your endowment should be a shield for justice, not a weapon of harm. - Fund the front lines boldly and directly.
Movements led by Black, Indigenous, immigrant, LGBTQ+, and disabled people are facing heightened repression. They need fast, flexible, multiyear support—not endless proposals and reporting. Fund legal defense, bail funds, mutual aid, and infrastructure. Be first to show up, not last to respond. - Use your voice and institutional power.
Philanthropy holds public credibility. Use it. Speak out when lawmakers attack protest rights or censor dissent. Organize your peers. Oppose policies that threaten democracy. Staying silent to protect “neutrality” is not leadership—it is complicity. - Embrace risk. Reject neutrality disguised as pluralism.
Too often, foundations invoke “pluralism” to justify inaction, claiming to support causes across the political spectrum. But not all causes are morally equivalent. Funding support for White nationalist groups or anti-trans legislation is not neutral—it is harmful. Courage means choosing a side. It means backing movements even when or especially when they are controversial or under attack. And it also means tolerating some failure—because real change is never linear or risk-free.
Solidarity, Not Safety
Business-as-usual philanthropy cannot meet the demands of this moment. Democratic institutions cannot be defended by cautious grant cycles and neutral portfolios. Communities cannot survive on pledges and platitudes.
Philanthropy that is committed to social justice must act boldly, creatively, and in deep solidarity. Foundations must wield all their tools—funds, investments, influence—as instruments of justice. This is not a time to play it safe. It is time to take sides. Because neutrality, in a time of repression, is not an option.
