Frozen in Fear: Nonprofit Leadership in a Polarized World

A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to a lunch. It was a space with other women of the community of all backgrounds culturally and professionally: some have held political positions, some have held other positions of power including leaders of the nonprofit sector, all have been or are currently invested in the city of Worcester in some way. I arrive and find me a seat at one of the remaining open tables which happens to be at the end where more... senior women are seating. As soon as I sit down I hear: as the only one on this end under 70, what is it that you do? I won't lie, it caught me off guard a bit, but, you know me, "Direct" is my middle name - I got this! I laugh and say, "Of course I'm 70!" And describe the work of Meryl's Safe Haven.

The afternoon and conversation go on. Eventually, I ask one of the women if she is done with [her body of work], she looks at me and says, "Absolutely! It's your turn, it's her turn, it's her turn" (as she points at women at the table) then says something to the effect of not being sure because with so many nonprofit leaders in the space, with a fear of funding being pulled, many won't do or say much of anything in this current climate.

I don't know if 'offended' completely describes me in that moment but "Ouch!" comes to mind now and if I wore pearls, I surely would've clutched them!

I’ve been in rooms where change was the mission and justice was the north star. But lately, I’ve noticed something: many nonprofit leaders are a bit frozen. Not in their (our) dedication. Not in their (our) hearts. But in fear. Not just fear for our organizations, but fear for the people we serve and, even, the impact of "being on the right side of history" could have on our families. Frankly, you could remove "fear" and frozen would stand just as soundly because many of us just don't know what to do or have the financial resources to do whatever that thing is, we're not all ivy league nonprofits.

Let’s be honest, we’re living in a politically charged time. Language is weaponized. Social media can take a 30-second clip and turn it into a 30-day crisis. And while the work many nonprofits do is inherently tied to social issues, not everyone believes any particular item, at any particular point regarding any particular population from any particular... enemy(?) is "their" issue. Many are afraid to risk funding, relationships, or even their perceived neutrality. Neutrality, by the way, is often a luxury. And fear? It’s human. But when fear dictates your mission, your silence starts to speak louder than your action.

“Is This Safe to Say?”

I’ve been in meetings where leaders ask this question out loud. Not “Is this right?” or “Is this aligned with our values?” but “Will this get us in trouble?” Let me say: that’s a valid concern — especially when livelihoods, grants, and public perception are on the line. I get it.

But I also think it’s worth naming what’s happening here: fear is making our missions smaller.

And that’s dangerous.

It’s easy to say “We support equity” in a grant proposal, but what happens when supporting equity means showing up to a school board meeting? Or pushing back on a donor’s expectation that you “keep politics out of it”? Because the work — housing, education, food security, community healing — is political... be honest with yourself, it always has been. The alleviation of poverty as a mission of a program that spans the country... is political. There is money in poverty. For the people in the back: There is money in poverty.

The Cost of Inaction

I've mentioned this before and it might be helpful to hear it again in this context: I once sat through a fundraising workshop in a doctoral course — it was designed to help us get comfortable with “the ask.” But instead, it ended up teaching me something much deeper: when you're not clear on your values, every conversation feels like manipulation. We’re asking communities to trust us, but often we’re too scared to trust ourselves. Silence might feel safe, but it’s costly. It costs us authenticity. It costs us relevance. And in many cases, it costs us the very communities we claim to serve and if they cannot trust us to stand with them, who do they have? Why should they show up when "numbers are important".

So… What Do We Do?

I don’t have all the answers. (And I’ve put my dissertation days behind me, so I won’t try to write a thesis on this.) But I do know that courage and mission alignment can — and must — coexist. It doesn’t mean shouting into the void. It means getting clear on who you are, what your organization stands for, and how you show up when it matters.

Let me offer a few grounding reminders:

1. Start with Your Values

   1. Not just the ones on your website — the ones you live out. Review them. Revisit them. And be honest: are your actions matching your intentions?

2. Don’t Go It Alone

   1. Find peer organizations that are also navigating these waters. If you’re scared to take a stand, there’s power in linking arms. Coalitions can share the risk and the reward.

3. Educate Your Board

   1. Many boards see advocacy as liability. Help them understand that staying silent isn’t neutral — it’s a stance too. Frame it not as partisanship, but as mission integrity.

4. Speak with Purpose, Not Panic

   1. You don’t need to comment on every headline. But when something touches your mission — or your people — use your voice. Even a whisper, when consistent, becomes a movement.

5. Remember Who You’re Really Accountable To

   1. Donors are important. Partners matter. But the people most impacted by your work? They’re the ones whose trust must matter most.

I’m not writing this from a mountaintop. I’m writing this from the thick of it — like many of you. I’ve hit “save draft” more times than I’d like to admit. I often find myself, a CEO of a new nonprofit, frozen - not because of fear, but because of overwhelment: there's so much happening, what can I do? What should I do? I’ve wondered if I should just keep the peace, stay vague, not rock the boat. But here’s what I know now: the boat is already rocking. And we’re all in it together.

Let’s stop letting fear be the loudest voice in the room. Because if we, as nonprofit leaders, don't show up with courage, clarity, and conviction — who will?

Fear Aside, I Support MSH