Changing the World Without Losing Your Mind, Revised Edition: Leadership Lessons from Three Decades of Social Entrepreneurship
Alex Counts
326 pages, Rivertowns Books, 2021
The author and professor Ken Bain once wrote, “Teaching is one of the human endeavors that rarely benefits from its past ... For the most part, [great teachers’] insights die with them, and subsequent generations must discover anew the wisdom that drove their practices.”
I have come to believe that this observation may apply even more to mission-driven leaders. When I was winding down my 18-year run leading Grameen Foundation, which I established in 1997 after a decade of mentorship under the Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus, I embarked on a process of documenting the most important things that I had learned along the way. It was an alternatively soulful, disturbing, enjoyable, cleansing, and arduous process. The 800 pages I churned out were ultimately chiseled into 300 pages and released in 2019 as Changing the World Without Losing Your Mind: Leadership Lessons from Three Decades of Social Entrepreneurship.
Unlike most non-profit leadership memoirs, I focused on insights rather than on my accomplishments. As one reviewer noted, it was more mea culpa than self-congratulation. Each story contained ideas, techniques, and practices that I came to value, use, and depend on. In all cases, I wished I had learned them earlier. The last third of the book focused on self-care for mission-driven leaders. The messages seemed to resonate with many readers and reviewers, including this one.
On May 18, 2021, a revised edition of this book came out with a new introduction and an epilogue focused on leading during a crisis. The new material was written for those navigating COVID-19, something that I could not have foreseen when the first edition was published. The excerpt below is taken from the epilogue. It attempts to channel lessons I learned from previous society-wide crises, which, while different in nature, are still relevant to leading a mission-driven organization during a pandemic and its aftermath.—Alex Counts
* * *
That settled it. The meeting would definitely not go forward.
One fall morning in 2001, I was chairing a meeting of the executive committee of a microcredit program operating in the iconic New York City neighborhood of Harlem. Our meeting was interrupted by someone popping their head into the room to tell us the news that a plane had flown into one of the Twin Towers in lower Manhattan, just a few miles away from us. We paused briefly, a little disturbed to hear about what we assumed was a tragic accident. Then we continued our deliberations.
But when word reached us that a second plane had smashed into the other tower, we realized there was no point in trying to conduct business as usual. Everyone in the meeting began calling loved ones or leaving the building.
Like many people, especially those of us who were in New York on 9/11, I can remember the rest of the day vividly. Watching the news on a TV screen in an electronics store window from the sidewalk on 125th Street. Trying to figure out where my frail father was and whether he was having trouble getting back from his doctor’s appointment to his apartment on 81st Street. Getting into bed that night understanding that everything had changed but not knowing what lay ahead for me, for the nonprofit organization I led, or for the world around us.
I felt profoundly inadequate to meeting the daunting challenges that lay ahead. But I would have to do my best, and a good night’s sleep felt like a decent place to start. Rest might help me summon the wisdom, courage, and effort that would be required of me in the weeks ahead. That tiny first step would be the beginning of a long slog in the months that followed.
Navigating Booms and Busts
For a nonprofit leader, there are essentially two types of crises. One is driven by a shock experienced by a single organization. It may come from many sources: a major funder informs you that donations will cease; a damaging news story about your organization (truthful or not) hits the media; your staff revolts, and the people you hired send a collective appeal to the board to fire you; your chief financial officer absconds with half a million dollars; a major lawsuit is filed against your nonprofit.
The second type of crisis is one caused by a systemic or environmental shock that impacts all or most of society, including nonprofits. For example, an economic downturn, a natural disaster, or a terrorist attack. Or a pandemic.
Both types of crises have some things in common, but they are also different in important ways. During an organization-specific crisis, a leader usually has a significant degree of control over their destiny, if they can figure out how to use it. On the other hand, since similar organizations are unaffected, a wounded organization can be further weakened by losing donors and talent to competitors.
During a society-wide crisis, a leader usually has considerably less control over their fate. However, peer organizations and their supporters are likely to be as negatively impacted as your nonprofit, and therefore are unlikely to be in a position to recruit your donors, social investors, or employees away from you. Like you, they are also focused on simply trying to keep their heads above water. Furthermore, it is easier to ask for support, encouragement, and ideas from one’s peers when they are similarly impacted, as opposed to when your organization is experiencing a crisis of its own.
I have served as the CEO or the board chair of organizations navigating both types of traumas, and while I have made my share of mistakes and have the scars to show for them, I’ve also developed some battle-tested and effective approaches to leading during a crisis. But before I recount those stories and lessons, let me make two crucial points that many mission-driven leaders fail to grasp. During good times, an organization’s strengths are magnified. But during a crisis, its weaknesses are exposed and accentuated.
These statements may sound obvious. Yet their implications deserve some exploration.
When the wind is at your nonprofit’s back—for example, when you’re experiencing a booming economy, your issue is receiving favorable media attention, or your strategy is enjoying government support—you need to take full advantage of the positive momentum while it lasts. Don’t fall into the trap of complacency during times when progress seems relatively easy. And by all means, avoid getting talked into asking for less than allies and supporters can provide because you don’t want to push them too hard.
Instead, be aggressive—even relentless—in pursuing donations that can be used to attract top staff and volunteer talent and to build a rainy-day reserve fund. You’ll need both during the inevitable future times when you will face strong headwinds and perhaps a crisis. On too many occasions I have heard mission-driven leaders castigate themselves for not having made the most of favorable conditions while they had the opportunity to do so. Early in my career, I made the same mistake a few times.
As I write these words, the world is grappling with the COVID-19 pandemic and the resulting social and economic fallout. You may be reading these pages while in the throes of the same ongoing crisis, or perhaps in the midst of some future disaster. If so, don’t doubt that good times will come again. Grind it out now, using some of the ideas I’ll offer if they seem relevant to your situation. Just as important, be ready to be hyper-aggressive in bringing in money and talent to replenish and fortify your organization when conditions are more favorable, because those positive circumstances won’t last indefinitely either.
Summoning the Better Leader Within
Let’s go back to the aftermath of the 9/11 terror attacks with which I started this Epilogue.
My immediate focus was on organizational survival, and that meant raising money. I sat at my desk coming up with some rather dumb ideas. One was to tap into the widespread liberal feeling that, in the wake of a terror attack launched by radical Islamists, enlightened Westerners needed to show their support for moderate Muslims. To do this, I proposed sending out an urgent appeal for donations featuring the Kashf Foundation, our terrific Pakistani microfinance partner led by a charismatic local woman named Roshaneh Zafar. My chair and vice-chair wisely talked me out of that well-intended but unsound plan.
Instead, I began writing a more measured message to our donors and ran a draft by our fundraising consultant. He pointed out that my message focused too much on our internal organizational needs and too little on our still-relevant mission. It also fell short in terms of expressing concern for the psychological and emotional condition of the supporters who would receive it, many of whom lived in the New York and Washington areas that had been hit hard by the terror attacks. But his feedback mainly stuck to the big picture. “Alex,” he told me over the phone, “during times like these, the public looks to nonprofit leaders like yourself for guidance, reassurance, inspiration, and wisdom. Give them some in this message, in a way that feels authentic to you.”
I initially recoiled at his words. I was 34 years old, and most of the people who would get this appeal were older than I was. My anxiety about the future of Grameen Foundation and how its demise might reflect on me was palpable and at times overwhelming. But as his words sank in, I saw an opportunity to summon a better leader from within myself. I could focus less on my situation and that of the fledgling organization I had founded, and more on our poverty-fighting mission and on the thoughts and feelings of those who had invested their money and time in helping us become a force for good in the world.
I rewrote the letter, and as I arranged for it to be sent out, my anxiety abated somewhat. I began thinking less about my worries for the future and more about what my employees, board members, volunteers, and financial supporters needed from me to do their best for Grameen Foundation while attending to their own needs, whatever they might be.
Slowly and methodically, I started to focus on tasks large and small that could restore organizational stability and confidence and help ensure that we not only kept afloat, but advanced our mission. Those twin goals would require strengthening the relationships among, and deepening the emotional commitment of, people who were already involved with our organization. It took time, but we got enough right to not just recover, but to emerge stronger as an organization. Within two years, we were not only back on track, but had prepared our organization for a growth spurt that would enable us to triple in size from 2003 to 2005.
Playing the Long Game
During a society-wide crisis, some of your supporters will temporarily disappear as they tend to their own needs. Resist the temptation to respond with criticism, complaints, or anger. They probably feel overstretched, overstressed, and guilty about letting you and others down. Show them some grace. When they stabilize their circumstances, they will likely remember your understanding and resume their support.
In the aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis, a donor who had invested a lot of his money with the fraudulent financier Bernie Madoff signaled that he might need to withdraw a loan guarantee commitment he had made to us. This caused panic among my staff who were involved in the affected program, and they mentioned that we had legally enforceable rights to his guarantee for another two years. One suggested that we threaten to sue him. It was a unique situation, but the basic dynamic of people feeling a sense of scarcity and a desire to blame others is something every leader should expect during a time of crisis, and one that you must attempt to transcend. After all, when times are tough, there are also people and organizations that will step forward with new support and exceptional understanding for your mission-driven group, especially if you have the courage to ask them for help.
Here’s an example of what I mean. Starting during our second year, motivated by respect for our founding board member and inspirational leader Muhammad Yunus, Ted Turner’s United Nations Foundation had been giving Grameen Foundation annual unrestricted grants of $10,000 each fall. In 2001, a week after 9/11, a series of letters containing spores of deadly anthrax began to be delivered all over the country, killing five people and infecting others. The ensuing panic and the security restrictions it generated caused months of significant postal delays, and a lot of our foundation mail arrived late. But under the press of other concerns, it didn’t occur to me that the U.N. Foundation grant that we depended upon might be held up.
I needn’t have worried. Before I even thought about the problem, an anonymous U.N. Foundation staff member somehow got into our building after hours one night and stuck a nondescript envelope with a letter and their check under the door of our office.
I’m still impressed by that thoughtful gesture. The foundation staff realized our need even though we were temporarily too disorganized to recognize it and express it to them. They acted with urgency and understanding. I have never forgotten how they were there for us when we needed them most.
And what about our donor who had suffered financially due to Madoff’s criminal Ponzi scheme? I decided not to send an email threatening legal action, which probably would have made him even more agitated and resentful. Instead, I notified my board chair about the problem and asked for advice. He stated firmly that there should be no threats of lawsuits, especially against someone who had been so dedicated to our cause. Instead, our chairman called the donor and told him he would personally indemnify him against any loss in the event his loan guarantee was needed. In other words, if the donor ever had to provide funds to make good on a loan default, our chairman would make the payment on the donor’s behalf.
This gesture of generosity not only defused the crisis but created even more goodwill and solidarity throughout the organization. As it happened, the guarantee was never needed, so neither the donor nor our chairman had to part with any money.
I learned two key lessons from these stories. First, when people let you down, play the long game—extend grace to them, confident that your generosity will evoke a similar response from others.
Second, in times of crisis, be on the lookout for people who will take extraordinary measures to support you if you are willing to pursue them in a disciplined manner that is guided by urgency rather than panic.
After the onset of the 2020 pandemic, some nonprofit leaders decided that it was best to put fundraising efforts on hold out of respect for the needs of their donors. That was a big mistake. In tough times, if you still believe your organization’s mission matters—and you should!—don’t sell your donors and allies short by assuming they would rather not hear from you about what you are doing and what you need. Instead, reach out to them to express interest and concern, update them on what you are doing, and to ask their advice. And, by all means, request their financial support in a way that feels appropriate to the relationship and to the circumstances.
Some will turn you down for the time being, but others will step up in ways that you can barely imagine.