The Hunger Games.

When inflation limits disposable income, charitable giving is usually one of the first categories that take the hit. In times such as these, those of us working the front lines of non-profit experience the equivalent of “The Hunger Games of Funding”.

The Hunger Games of Funding affects all of us differently, typically sorting our thousands of community servants into two categories:

Category One: The Mean Girls.

The grand dames. The spotlight chasers. The ones far too important to take a supporting role if their name isn’t the headliner.  The ones who will consume an all-you-can-eat buffet while grumbling about the little nonprofit next to them who somehow managed to snag a day-old donut.

They not only refuse to make room at their tables but openly discourage others from sitting at yours for having the audacity to exist in “their space.”

The Joan Crawfords of service. The Regina Georges of charity.

They’re in every community. And if I’m being fair, scarcity has probably brought out a version of this in most of us at one point or another.

Fortunately, there is another group that I continually find myself surrounded by.

Category Two: The Island of Misfit Toys

They’re quirky. They’re spirited. They’re making communication work with two cans and a string. They’re often limited on time, staff, and discretionary funds. This makes the fact that they are so willing to share such limited resources even more precious.  

They give up seats when you’re seeking a place to sit. They pluck food from their own plates to make sure you can eat.

They share ideas and encouragement, brainstorm leads from their own networks, fully aware that it may mean a smaller piece of the pie for their organization, yet still content that another slice will be served.

They remind you that we’re all here for the same community: the one we live in, work in, and love through collaborative efforts.

“Collaboration” is both my favorite and least-favorite word.

It has become a buzzword in grant writing and accomplishment reports when, in reality, it is often used to describe an empty, transactional partnership that benefits only one side of the scale. Used this way, collaboration can become exploitative, not because organizations intend harm, but because appearances of alignment can quietly redirect attention, influence, or funding away from others.

But more importantly, it misses the opportunity to create the incredible impacts I’ve witnessed when used to its fullest potential.

For example, instead of trying to find ways to shift attention from parks, sports, or arts, we prefer to find ways to use one to advance the importance of the other. “We’ll feed them so they have enough energy to play. Then they’ll need a place to unleash all that excitement! How can we promote what you do?”

“Pet assistance programs matter. If families are struggling to feed their animals, they may be struggling to feed their children too. How can we tell that story together?”

“You’re running a feeding program too? Great. We have a lot of hungry kids in this community. How can we work together to avoid duplication and find the gaps neither of us has reached?”

And sometimes we find the most meaningful impacts saying, “No benefit to us. No acknowledgement. No logos. We’re still in.” Just selfless collaboration in quiet.

I’ve watched organizations open doors they didn’t have to open. I’ve watched people make introductions that cost them attention, share ideas that could have stayed proprietary, and celebrate wins they didn’t get to put their names on.

Not because resources are unlimited. Not because competition isn’t real.

But because abundance is often created, not discovered.

To borrow from Harry S. Truman: “It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit.”

The truth is, communities do not benefit when we become gatekeepers of service. They benefit when we become bridges.

So here’s to the island of misfit toys: the organizations, leaders, volunteers, and dreamers who understand that another nonprofit’s success is not evidence of your failure.

May we keep building longer tables instead of higher fences. May we work together to fill every plate. And in a world that too often feels like the Hunger Games of Funding, may we always remember that our communities were never meant to have only one winner.