A Year Without…

From “The Year Without a Santa Clause

I’m unsure who this letter is for: the community, nonprofits and philanthropy, elected officials...my mirror? But I’m fed up watching the executive branch and Congress tear chunks out of federal budgets—in broad daylight, as we all stand by and watch, seemingly helpless. I’m frustrated that our states eagerly follow suit, wielding the same blunt tools to cut essential programs that keep people healthy, housed, and hopeful. And I’m especially over the way corporate leaders and elected officials treat nonprofits like second-rate “charities” that should be grateful for scraps—while they dissect every overhead cost, “phone in” their participation on nonprofit boards, and ignore the fact that nonprofit staff are underpaid while doing some of the most critical and challenging work in our communities. The reality is nonprofits often do the work we expect our government to handle itself.

So here’s my idea, and I won’t pretend it isn’t extreme: Imagine a year without nonprofits and philanthropy. For some reason, I was thinking recently about the holiday classic, “The Year Without a Santa Claus,” where Santa feels tired and underappreciated, so Christmas is canceled. In my scenario, replace Santa with every food pantry, arts organization, and shelter feeling exhausted, forgotten, and disrespected—and then deciding to take the year off. No emergency meals or disaster relief, no homeless shelters, no free summer camps, no concerts, and no counseling for survivors of domestic violence.

If the powers that be are convinced that nonprofits are just a luxury or a convenient place to dump unwanted responsibilities, let’s see how they manage a world without them.

Maybe it will become clear that leaving so much to private charity and overburdened nonprofits is unsustainable. As Anu Partanen wrote in The Nordic Theory of Everything, “The U.S. is remarkable among the advanced nations for the way it forces its people into lives so stressful they have to turn against their own values.” In other words, many places in the world care for their people the way we would take care for our friends, families, and neighbors—with kindness, compassion, and, most importantly, resources. They care for people in a way that would make us less lonely, stressed, anxious, and divided. And, before you scream “socialist,” this isn’t about handouts; this is about providing the things that ensure we have a strong, educated workforce, flourishing young people, and an elderly population that can confidently move into the next chapter of life in pursuit of happiness—and ultimately, taxpayers who trust in their government.

Yes, I realize such a drastic move would hurt the very people nonprofits and foundations exist to help. People would go hungry, disaster areas would remain wastelands, and our lives would be bleak without the arts. But perhaps that’s the kind of result we—as community members and voters—need to truly rethink how we treat each other and the government we have a right to demand.

We can’t keep letting the people’s government offload its obligations—feeding hungry children, providing health coverage, offering access to cultural events, keeping libraries open—and then routinely underfund and nitpick or criticize nonprofits for “not doing enough” or “spending too much on admin.” It’s time for the voting public and the public sector to do the right thing: fully fund essential services and invest in the people who live and work in our communities—from prenatal care to elder care, from childcare to healthcare, and other universally available services that lead to greater well-being.

Meanwhile, philanthropy can serve as a complement to, not a substitute for, public funding by inspiring innovation, championing bold ideas, and uplifting aspirations—not plugging every hole left by reckless budget cuts.

In a country as prosperous as the United States, nonprofits and donors shouldn’t have to be the fallback every time the executive branch, Congress, a state legislature, or some local board decides to yank funding for something vital or meaningful to our well-being. If this doesn’t make you angry—if watching crucial services get slashed while we pretend private donors can (or must) fix everything doesn’t boil your blood—then I don’t know what will. It’s time to face reality: if a fictional show about a year without Santa Claus can make us nostalgic and appreciate the “reason for the season,” then maybe imagining a year with no nonprofits and philanthropy is the jolt we need to make us realize how much we take for granted. Here’s the truth: it’s not just the poor who would feel the loss—we’ll all feel it.

No museums. No afterschool programs. No medical research. No youth sports leagues. No free concerts in the park. No mental health support. No summer camps. No disaster response.

Whether we like it or not (for what it’s worth, I think it’s a house of cards), we’ve created a system that relies upon nonprofits to make our communities livable. The sector is not perfect, and there are certainly things it can do to improve. But nonprofits are not luxuries. They are not second-rate businesses. They are not afterthoughts. And they should not be the dumping ground for our government’s abandoned promises and responsibilities.

If we cut funding and expect nonprofits and philanthropy to fill the gap, we won’t just continue to fray our already thin safety net; we’ll unravel all that makes this the country we love.

If you don’t see that—if you don’t care—then maybe this letter is for you.