[The following story
is true. The names have been obscured to avoid embarrassing the guilty, who are
carrying a virulent strain of the dreaded NMS – Nonprofit Martyrdom Syndrome.]
It’s 3 am. My darling
bride is in a formal gown, and I’m in my best suit. We’re exhausted, collapsed
into each other’s arms. We’ve just spent the evening at a $500 per plate gala
fundraiser. It’s been one horrible night. Sounds like there should be every reason
that it was a great evening. The problem?
We weren’t guests, we were staff.
At the time, my wife was a program manager for a regional
office of a major national nonprofit; an organization with a noble and
important cause. I had directly supported the effort myself by completing a few
of the now ubiquitous “run for the cause” events that this mission had helped
to popularize.
Said gala was the highlight of the year for these folks, and
pulling off the event was my wife’s primary responsibility. Now I know you’ve
been to many of these, so I can quickly describe the scene in very broad
brushes: Interesting and unique space,
fully catered sit-down dinner, DJ, silent and live auction. The kind of thing
you see in the “out and about” pages of your local newspaper.
12 hour days have been the norm for about 8 weeks leading up
to this night, with the much of the labor focused on collecting, cataloguing
and pricing all of the silent auction items, which then had to be brought down
to the interesting and unique event space.
Across the dinner table, I learn that the team plans to do this in
multiple shuttle trips in their own cars. “Why, that’s silly” say I, sensing an
opportunity to earn some husband points. “You should rent a van and haul it all
down in one shot”. “Oh, we can’t rent a van” says my dear one, “that’s not in
the budget. And besides, who would drive it?” So, good sport that I am, I
volunteer to rent the van (paid for out of my own pocket) and be the driver (of
course, I’ve already taken the day off from work to be the supportive husband
that I am).
The auction gets set up, the caterer arrives, a grand time
is had by all (well, by the guests anyway – paid and volunteer staff have been
on their feet since early in the day).
The guests are now gone. Everything is packed up. The team is sitting
around enjoying the afterglow of a great success. I suggest that we need to go
home, because I have to go to work the next day. Hugs all around, thanks all
around, high fives all around. We climb
into the rented van, make it home and pass out, still in our formal attire.
My darling bride sleeps in a bit, and makes it into the
office around 10 am the next day. She’s told by the receptionist that the boss
wants to see her right away. She walks
in, excepting a brief and upbeat post-mortem, but is greeted by a severe
reprimand – not for being late to work (absurd as that is), but for leaving the
event early.
This experience left me pondering a question that haunts me
to this day. Why do organizations that do such great work caring for others
show such little concern for those who do the work of caring? Why do we expect human suffering as the
standard behavior for those who work to relieve human suffering?
Now I know that your shop doesn’t do this. You provide a
fair wage for a fair day’s work, and make sure your team gets the rest they
need. You provide healthcare, paid vacations and all the other things that any
good employer does. But I bet you know a few programs like the one in this
story. Programs where the entire team
actively works each day to nail themselves to the cross (and in some cases will
even climb back up when someone has just let them down).
And no, this isn’t a way for an aggrieved husband to air an
old grudge – in fact; it’s an experience that has inspired much of my current
work to redefine how social missions are delivered. Most if all, it’s a clear
case of NMS. We’ll get to the cure for this one in our next installment.
[P.S. – the next income for all this effort?
Around $80,000. The net result on employee turn-over? Other than the Executive
Director, 100% staff turnover within 12 months – and one member of my household
who will NEVER work for a nonprofit again (just ask her).]
