Are Billionaires Actually Listening? At Least One of Them Appears to Be

Sometimes—often—critiquing philanthropy can feel like shouting into a void. You’re targeting some of the most powerful, well-resourced people in the world, people who’ve been given every reason to have supreme confidence in what they’re doing, never mind what anyone down below thinks. It’s an age-old byproduct of hierarchy, and it means change comes slowly, if at all.

That perennial sensation of swimming in molasses was what made MacKenzie Scott’s big philanthropy debut so exciting. Her first Medium post in the summer of 2020 was one of the clearest occasions in recent memory when it felt like one of America’s ultra-wealthy actually got it—on the need for general support, on fulfilling the Giving Pledge and not just talking about it, on backing historically under-resourced institutions—I could go on.

When MacKenzie Scott gives, people pay attention. That’s definitely the case for our editorial team, for all the reasons stated above, and we’ve been largely enthusiastic about the many ways Scott has challenged the sector and supported the nonprofit world. It’s also true for our readers. Articles with her name in the title consistently rank among our most-read, and I’d assume the same is true for other philanthropy media.

Late last week, Scott once again set the philanthrosphere abuzz with another post, but this time with no grantees or grant amounts listed. Her rationale—to give recipients a chance to share and take the spotlight off of herself—was a noble one. But that didn’t stop a chorus of commentators (myself included) from calling out what looked a lot like a step away from transparency.

I can’t speak for others, but my take was intended largely as a dig at the growing opacity of nonprofit funding in general, in the fear that Scott might be heading down that road. And it came with an ask: that she consider sharing details of her grants, both as a way to cede power and as an encouragement for other grantmakers to do the same.

Other voices shared the same hope, and yet again, Scott came through. Her response was more of a reassurance than a concession. In a follow-up post published two days after the first, she stressed that moving away from transparency was never her intention, and that sharing information has been one of her goals from the start. She even dangled the promise of a grants database sometime next year—exciting news for those of us who’ve been digging around to get a handle on the most important philanthropist of the COVID era.

Of course, at the end of the day, Scott’s still the one with $60 billion, mostly equity in a sprawling mega-corporation most of us rely on to some degree. She holds the cards here, and we remain mostly in the dark when it comes to how decisions are being made and how hopeful grantees might access this enormous philanthropic project. Scott’s “no dollar signs” post was a reminder that the pattern we’ve become used to—multibillion-dollar grant drops with names and (some) numbers attached—persists entirely at Scott’s discretion.

Still, what happened last week was an important moment in the MacKenzie Scott giving saga. From a self-described private philanthropist who operates through a team of consultants and communicates via bi-annual posts, it was the first time we’ve gotten a sense that Scott is listening closely to the conversation about her giving, in real time. Her quick clarification on transparency was part of that, but so was her Twitter exchange with philanthropy scholar Ben Soskis—the first time I know of that she’s engaged in that sort of thing.

Scott’s responsiveness is not so surprising, given the characteristics of her philanthropy to date. But it raises the question—if Scott’s paying any attention to the humble philanthropic commentariat, how many other mega-donors are listening? We’d like to think at least a few. Because in the end, the point of philanthropy journalism isn’t just to let people know about the latest grant. It’s to carry on a conversation that challenges all of us.

Elizabeth Barajas-Román’s guest piece for IP calling out sexism in critiques of MacKenzie Scott’s giving certainly fits that bill. Are we—cisgendered men in particular—holding Scott to a higher standard because of ingrained discomfort with women in power? At the very least, there is something unseemly about a bunch of commentators, often men, unleashing a barrage of critiques in response to Scott’s decisions. Barajas-Román offers a much-needed gut check, and has us thinking a lot about how we criticize women donors, even the language we use when doing so.

At the same time, I would offer another, maybe not so bad, reason for the high standard Scott is being held to, and that is the fact that she’s the billionaire who raised the bar.

A handful of people—some women, like Jacqueline Mars or Julia Koch or Miriam Adelson, but mostly men—command similar resources. Many of them don’t give in a noteworthy way, or they don’t give much at all. What can we say about them other than, like, give more? Others have higher profiles and get praised and dragged by all sorts of people, all the time, but seem mostly immune to criticism. It might be entertaining to throw shade at Bezos’ space cowboy philanthropy or Musk’s philanthropy by trolling, but are they listening? Hard to say.

Scott, on the other hand, appears to be that rare billionaire who’s earnest about elevating the philanthropy game, not to mention willing to challenge the economic system that gave rise to her extreme wealth. Her giving isn’t universally admired (a lack of procedural transparency is a big part of that), but “giving like MacKenzie Scott” is quickly becoming shorthand for what many of us believe wealthy donors should be doing more of. And so it’ll strike a nerve when it appears like MacKenzie Scott might no longer give like MacKenzie Scott. Thankfully, it looks like she won’t be going silent anytime soon.

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