We donate money just so you can send us gifts?
Every now and then, a package arrives in the mail from a charity I’ve supported. It might be a calendar, a set of greeting cards, or even a small, decorative trinket, all emblazoned with the charity’s logo and a heartfelt message of thanks. My first reaction is often a fleeting sense of warmth – “How thoughtful!” – quickly followed by a prickle of unease. My mind immediately jumps to a question that I can’t seem to shake: Who paid for this?
It’s an awkward dilemma, isn’t it? On one hand, I appreciate the gesture. On the other, a part of me screams, “Shouldn’t those precious donation dollars be going directly to the cause, not to stationery and postage?”
This isn’t a one-off thought; it’s a recurring frustration that has significantly shaped my approach to charitable giving. When I donate, I do so with the expectation that every penny will genuinely help those in need, or further the vital work the organization claims to do. To see a portion, however small, diverted to what feels like a marketing gimmick designed to elicit more donations, rather than directly supporting the beneficiaries, leaves a bitter taste.
It makes me question the very integrity of the appeal. Is this truly a “thank you,” or a subtle form of donor bribery, designed to make me feel obligated to contribute again? The cost of these “gifts,” multiplied across thousands, even millions of donors, must amount to a staggering sum – funds that could, and arguably should, have been used to feed the hungry, house the homeless, or fund critical research.
My concerns don’t stop at thank-you gifts. They extend to a deeper, more troubling aspect of some charitable organizations: the often-inflated salaries of their top executives. When I hear about the CEO of a non-profit pulling in a seven-figure salary, my eyebrows raise so high they almost disappear into my gorgeous hairline.
It’s a stark contradiction to the very essence of charity, which, to me, evokes selflessness, compassion and a commitment to serving others above personal gain. I understand that running a large organization, even a non-profit, requires skilled leadership and fair compensation is certainly warranted. These aren’t volunteer positions, and the complexities of managing multi-million-dollar operations demand professional expertise. But there’s a distinct line between fair compensation and excessive remuneration.
When a charity CEO’s salary rivals that of a corporate executive in the for-profit sector, it forces me to confront a troubling question: Is their primary motivation truly the cause or is it the considerable financial reward?
If they are so passionately dedicated to alleviating suffering or solving a global crisis, as their mission statements often proclaim, why do they require such exorbitant salaries? It makes me wonder if their “passion” is truly for the cause or for the comfortable lifestyle it affords them. This isn’t to say they should live in poverty, but a profound commitment to a cause, particularly one funded by the generosity of everyday people, should surely manifest in a more modest approach to personal compensation. It fundamentally erodes the trust that is so vital in the donor-charity relationship.
These two issues – the spending on donor “swag” and the often-inflated executive salaries – combine to create a powerful sense of disillusionment. They make me pause and seriously question if these organizations genuinely need my money or if a significant portion of it is simply absorbed into an administrative apparatus that seems to serve itself as much as it serves its stated mission. (The great thing is that these registered charities must publish their financial statements. I won’t name them here but it’s not uncommon to have 30 per cent of their revenue going to “admin” costs.)
It’s not about being cynical; it’s about seeking assurance that my precious contribution will truly make a difference at the grassroots level, not just fuel an expensive operational machine or provide lavish perks for those at the top. The cumulative effect of these practices is a pervasive doubt that chips away at my desire to donate cash.
This is why, after much deliberation and personal reflection, I’ve made a conscious decision to shift my approach to charitable giving. Instead of simply handing over money that might be siphoned off for peripheral expenses or exorbitant salaries, I now prioritize more direct forms of support. I make a point of either volunteering my time or donating goods.
When I volunteer, I see firsthand where my effort goes. I’m there on the ground, interacting with the people or animals being helped, directly contributing to the cause without any overhead. There are no administrative costs associated with my hours, no marketing campaigns to fund. Every minute I dedicate is a minute directly improving someone’s life or advancing the organization’s core mission. And, in all honesty, I actually feel like a better person after doing that than when I just throw money to an unseen effort.
Similarly, when I donate goods – whether it’s food, clothing, blankets or supplies – I have the satisfaction of knowing that my contribution is tangible and immediately beneficial. These items go straight to those who need them, bypassing any financial uncertainty or concerns about how cash donations might be allocated. It offers a transparency and direct impact that I find increasingly difficult to achieve when simply writing a check. (It’s also a red flag to me when an organization refuses donations of goods and instead says, “Just send money.” For instance, I’ve seen it after a natural disaster and the justification is, “We have the supplies we need, we just need money.” Well, then you don’t have the supplies you need because, technically, money is a supply. Why don’t you want my blankets or giant package of Costco socks for people to use right now?)
Ultimately, my hope is for a charitable sector that operates with the utmost integrity and transparency. Charities rely on the inherent goodwill and generosity of people, and that trust is a fragile thing. When the trust is undermined by questionable spending practices or seemingly self-serving compensation structures, it doesn’t just impact a single donation; it risks eroding the very spirit of philanthropy.
Pretty soon, the shady organizations will overshadow the entire sector and make the once-generous public pull away and say, “You’re all the same and you’re on your own now. Sorry.” And then, everyone loses.
As donors, we have a right, and perhaps even a responsibility, to scrutinize where our hard-earned money goes. It’s time for charities to rigorously evaluate whether every dollar truly serves the cause, ensuring that our collective generosity makes the greatest possible difference for those who need it most.
