America is turning 250 years old. It’s a milestone worth celebrating, and also an opportunity to be honest about what’s endured, what’s broken, and what we’re willing to repair. Trust in almost every major American institution it is eroded. Faith in the governmentmedia, higher education, business and religious institutions have weakened across the board for years, often with good reason, but leaving communities skeptical of the organizations that claim to serve them.
In that void, people often look to nonprofits and philanthropy for hope. They are closer to communities than government, more mission-driven than markets, and more agile than either. But if the philanthropic sector hopes to help rebuild faith in American institutions, it must begin by acknowledging that good intentions are not enough. Nonprofits and funders must demonstrate that their decisions are transparent, their work is effective, and the people most affected by that work have a real hand in shaping it.
I’ve spent much of my life on both sides of philanthropy: writing the checks and following them. I’ve seen generosity change lives when it’s driven by humility, urgency, and respect for those it serves, as well as the organizations entrusted to do the work. I’ve also seen how easily supposed virtue can be confused with accountability, and how nonprofits and philanthropic institutions can repeat many of the same failures they aim to solve.
Americans expect institutions to demonstrate influence rather than simply profess good intentions. Donors want proof that their contributions create measurable change, communities expect a meaningful voice in decisions that affect them, and policymakers want proof that nonprofit partnerships deliver results along with compassion. If philanthropy is to help rebuild trust in America, it cannot assume trust simply because its purpose is charity. It has to earn trust in the same way as any other institution.
The non-profit sector is vast. Nearly two million organizations across the country reach nearly every part of American life, from health care and hunger relief to education, disaster response, the arts, civic engagement and faith communities. The sector collectively benefits from the powerful assumption that because an organization exists for the purpose of doing good, it must be doing good. This assumption can also be dangerous.
Nonprofits can develop some of the same habits that have undermined trust in other American institutions: they can become insular; they may be unclear about how decisions are made; they may protect their structures more carefully than examine their impact.
Trust breaks down in various ways throughout the philanthropic ecosystem. From the funder’s chair, it erodes when the strings attached to a check limit an organization more than they enable it, or when donors refuse to fund the infrastructure that makes nonprofits more effective: technology, talent, financial systems, and evaluation. From the operating chair, trust is eroded when organizations chase limited funds until their missions are distorted, or when leaders rely on goodwill instead of building the discipline to ask if their work is really working.
Philanthropy is too important to be left out of consideration. If the sector is to help rebuild public trust, it must be held to the same standard as any other institution with power, influence and responsibility.
I see this tension clearly in my work directing God’s Love We Share. The organization was founded in New York City during the height of the AIDS pandemic, when fear, stigma and neglect were as devastating as the disease itself. Many people were left without the care and dignity they deserved. The original mission was straightforward: to cook and give food — and dignity — to people too sick to feed themselves.
That founding instinct—to show up, get things done, and treat people like their lives matter—is still the moral center of the organization. But the continued evolution of the organization offers a broad lesson for the sector. As the needs of the community changed, the mission expanded beyond HIV/AIDS to serve people living with cancer, heart disease, diabetes and other serious illnesses. Today, millions of medically tailored meals are distributed each year, treating nutrition as a critical part of health care because the organization has remained accountable to the evidence and the people it serves, rather than treating its founding model as fixed. This evolution came from closeness, humility and the discipline to let the people we serve lead the way.
Learning extends beyond any single organization. Across the country, local nonprofits often see gaps in services before larger systems do. They know which families are falling apart, which seniors are isolated, which patients are struggling after a diagnosis, and which communities are not being reached by conventional approaches. This closeness is an asset and a liability. It requires constant asking of hard questions: Who decides what communities need? Whose voices shape strategy? Who is heard? And who is responsible when programs fail to deliver the intended results? If the industry wants to help address America’s trust deficit, it needs to ask these questions.
The relationships that make this work possible cross all boundaries. They are how trust is rebuilt. Government brings scope, sustainability and public legitimacy. Philanthropy brings flexibility, experimentation and urgency. Businesses bring expertise, technology and investment. Community organizations and volunteers bring lived experience and human connection that cannot be replicated externally. When these relationships are built on mutual respect and shared responsibility rather than transactional funding, people experience something they have long hungered for: institutions that feel accountable, results-based, and ultimately more human.
As America turns 250, it’s tempting to imagine the decline of civic trust as a national problem in need of a national solution. But the work is not done here. Much of the repair work will happen close to where people live, through organizations that know their communities well enough to serve them honestly and are disciplined enough to be held accountable when they fall short.
The next chapter of American life will require more than commemoration. It will require the care of institutions, public trust, civic responsibility and each other. That work will not be done by the biggest or the most powerful. It will be done by the people who lead the organizations, humble enough to listen, honest enough to measure and committed enough to stay.
