In this episode of the "Collage" podcast, the Rev. F. Willis Johnson interviews Dr. Lilya Wagner, who formally served as director of philanthropic services for institutions and is emeritus faculty of the Lilly Family School of Philanthropy at Indiana University. She is an active voice and a pioneering figure in the philanthropic community.
This is a season of “peace on earth and goodwill to humankind,” yet experiencing that peace is proving elusive as Americans are more stressed and anxious than ever.
Seventy-seven percent of American adults have experienced significant stress about the future of the country, and 39 percent of Americans are actively worried about politics getting brought up at holiday gatherings. While one-third of Americans felt less stress, two-thirds of Americans felt no improvement or even more stress following the election. Entrusting hope in our current version of politics is proving to not be a recipe for experiencing peace.
Americans seem to want a fast-food version of politics, where we only have to vote and then if a member of our political “tribe” wins, they deliver us solutions to all our needs, hopes and desires. Not surprisingly, this “citizens as consumers” approach is fraught on multiple levels. When we bank on elections, political parties and politicians as our source of peace, then our ability to experience peace evaporates when our party loses. Even if our party wins, our dysfunctional system incentivizes it to prioritize remaining in power over trying to solve the real problems that impact our daily lives. At best, this is a recipe for superficial, fleeting feelings of peace for those whose party takes power and little hope for peace for everyone else.
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We need something better.
In Christian tradition, the weeks leading up to Christmas are a time of reflection and celebration of the peace promised through Jesus. What Christians often miss, however, is that Jesus’ offer was “to guide our feet into the way of peace,” not to instantly get rid of all stress and anxiety with minimal effort on our part. Just like the shepherds who had to go search for baby Jesus in the manger, we have to actively seek out peace. Being the “hands and feet of Jesus” also means pursuing peace not just for ourselves but for our neighbors as well.
Ninety-two percent of Americans subscribe to the golden rule, yet that belief system feels alien in American politics. We metaphorically walk by people robbed, beaten and lying in the street, assuming that we did our job by voting for an elected official to take care of them. We have a political system where one party wins and then power over the other party. Even within parties, the voices that scream the loudest or donate the most money control the party agenda to the exclusion of the needs and goals of everyone else. This is not what neighbor love looks like.
A political system grounded in the golden rule centers on struggling together to find commonsense solutions in pursuit of the common good. Since our neighbors also have to participate in the pursuit to experience any resulting peace, this requires partnering with our neighbors, even when we might not particularly like them or may have different party affiliations, religious beliefs, etc. This is not always easy, but in the words of my former seminary classmate, Sam Duran, we can only experience peace “in the struggle.”
Confusingly, engaging in (healthy) conflict — not avoiding conflict — is part of the path for us to experience peace. We have different, reasonable visions of what the common good is and how to best enable it. Being a good neighbor is neither blindly going along with someone else’s position nor refusing to budge from our own. Both options lead to suboptimal outcomes. For those of us who grew up in the Midwest or have served in war zones, confrontation sounds like the worst possible outcome, especially when the alternative is just voting and letting others engage in the conflict. Being a good neighbor, however, is learning how to disagree better and struggling together to identify the best possible solutions for our community.
As a result, golden rule politics expands the role of us everyday citizens. Being a good neighbor still includes picking up that person lying in the street and getting them taken care of, but it also requires bringing the community together to identify and find solutions to the underlying crime problem and then taking steps to fix it. Being a good neighbor also means working to change electoral processes and money in politics to positively incentivize elected officials and government institutions and building the community strength to hold them accountable when they fail to hold up their end of the bargain. This struggling together for peace approach offers us an alternative to today’s us-against-them, winners-take-all, peace-destroying form of politics.
Fortunately, we do not have to be experts in any relevant field to participate in this new form of politics. There are groups of local nonprofit organizations, community leaders and journalists in communities across the country that have the necessary skills and expertise and are ready to provide support. These local civic hubs are equipped to help your community with whatever it needs to struggle together: from offering processes for relationship-building to organizing services projects to creating opportunities to learn how to disagree better. They can also facilitate you and your neighbors coming together to talk through and decide on your community's biggest needs, goals and priorities, and then help you create and carry out a plan for solving those priorities together. You just need to show up and bring whatever time, gifts or treasure you can — and bring your neighbors with.
Complete peace may be unattainable in the current age, but this re-imagined form of politics offers us an avenue for pursuing peace together in ways that are aligned with the meaning of this season. When we struggle together, we can experience peace through living out the golden rule. Peace in realizing that we are not powerless but instead are commissioned to transform systems that do not promote peace. Peace in experiencing that we are better together.
Join us in pursuing peace by connecting with a local civic hub in your community. ContactBetter Together America for more information.
Christen is a co-founder of Better Together America, a network accelerating the growth and development of local civic hubs in communities across the country. He also co-founded the Inter-Movement Impact Project and is a lawyer, theologian trained at Duke Divinity School and senior officer in the Navy Reserve JAG Corps. All stated opinions are his own and do not represent the positions of the U.S. Navy.
The notion that we can "rethink" DEI reflects a dangerous oversimplification of deeply rooted historical and social issues. This intellectual approach, while well-intentioned, often needs to be revised and is potentially harmful to those who have experienced the real-world consequences of systemic inequities.
Meaningful change requires more than mere philosophical reconsideration or academic debate — it demands concrete action, institutional reform and a genuine willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. Actual progress necessitates critical thinking, practical applications and sustained commitment to transformative action at both individual and societal levels.
While the current discourse around "rethinking" diversity, equity and inclusion has become increasingly polarized — particularly after recent Supreme Court decisions and corporate policy shifts — it's crucial to distinguish between honest exploration and attempts to undermine DEI's fundamental validity. When approached with integrity and good faith, the process of refinement and critical examination strengthens rather than weakens DEI initiatives, much like how scientific theories become more robust through rigorous peer review and methodological scrutiny. For many academics, business leaders and social advocates, the call to "rethink" DEI is an innocuous, intellectually prudent and socially responsible enterprise grounded in recognizing that any significant institutional change requires periodic assessment and adaptation.
The key lies in recognizing that thoughtful reassessment of implementation strategies — such as evaluating the effectiveness of unconscious bias training, measuring the impact of mentorship programs or analyzing recruitment methodologies — differs fundamentally from efforts to dismantle or delegitimize DEI's core mission. This distinction becomes particularly vital when considering that DEI's ultimate goal is the fundamental transformation of our civic and democratic institutions — a transformation that requires ongoing dialogue, assessment and evolution, similar to other historic social movements like civil rights, women's suffrage or disability rights advocacy.
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In practice, this means creating spaces where constructive criticism can coexist with a mutual commitment to equity, questioning ways and means without questioning the moral imperative of inclusion and where refinements to approach are seen not as admissions of failure but as signs of programmatic maturity and institutional wisdom.
As a scholar-practitioner, I recognize the complexity of realizing DEI. I respect the suppositions of colleagues that nuanced discussion transcends reflexive opposition and requires uncritical acceptance. It is important that discourse concerning equity and uneven distribution of opportunities is clear in definitions and goals: Are we pursuing equality of opportunity, addressing systemic barriers or working toward more comprehensive social transformation? Such questions deserve careful consideration, not as a means of undermining DEI, but as a way to strengthen its effectiveness and broaden its impact. Success in this endeavor requires moving beyond ad hominem arguments that dismiss perspectives based on the speaker's background — whether privileged or marginalized — and instead focusing on the substance of ideas and their potential to advance genuine equity.
Moreover, well-intentioned questioning or respectful ideological attacks that challenge my and other DEI advocates’ hermeneutical suspicion rather than engaging with the substance of equity itself reveal not only the weakness of their position but their deep discomfort with confronting America's moral debt to those marginalized, other-ed and disenfranchised. Until America fully confronts its moral character, history and present reality of systemic inequality — until we achieve a truly inclusive and pluralist democracy — DEI will remain relevant and essential.
The real question isn't whether we should "rethink" DEI but rather why we resist its basic premise: Everyone deserves equal opportunity and dignity in our civic and capitalistic life. For those facing systemic barriers and institutional exclusion, such intellectual exercises are not merely academic or legislative — they represent an existential threat to hard-won progress toward a more equitable society.
The path forward lies in grounding DEI advocacy in data, facts and demonstrated outcomes while remaining open to acknowledging its points of uplift and areas needing improvement. Rather than engaging in polemics, effective DEI work must counter misconceptions with evidence, appeal to shared values of fairness and respect, and maintain the courage to acknowledge when specific practices need adjustment. This approach recognizes deliberate building toward a representative, diverse and inclusive nation requires more than ideological certainty — it demands practical wisdom, empirical evidence and the ability to engage constructively with diverse perspectives while maintaining fidelity to core principles of equity and justice.
Johnson is a United Methodist pastor, the author of "Holding Up Your Corner: Talking About Race in Your Community" and program director for the Bridge Alliance, which houses The Fulcrum.
Invest Appalachia supports community economic development projects and businesses across the Appalachian counties of six states.
In Part 2 of this three-part series focused on why and how the community development finance field needs to reframe the role of capital technicians and the market, rebalance power relationships, and prioritize community voice. Today we continue that discussion.
Invest Appalachia (IA) is another strong example of how to rebalance power between financial expertise and community voice. On the surface, IA can be described in traditional finance terms—a community investment fund similar to a CDFI that has raised $35.5 million in impact investments and nearly $3 million in grants for flexible and risk-absorbing capital. IA officially opened its doors at the end of 2022. In its first year of operation, it deployed $6.3 million in blended capital (flexible loans alongside recoverable grants) to support community economic development projects and businesses across the Appalachian counties of six states: Kentucky, North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia, and Ohio. Another $6.5 million was deployed in the first eight months of 2024.
However, IA has chosen to operate in a new and interesting way. As a nonprofit, it serves as the manager and general partner for the IA fund. Rather than becoming a CDFI itself, IA, like LTR, contracted with a CDFI, Locus, as the IA fund’s investment manager. Locus supports back-office functions of the IA fund, including portfolio management, underwriting, and coordinating third-party service provision (e.g., servicing, accounting, and administration).
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IA also holds itself to a high standard regarding both collaboration and community governance. IA’s partnership-first approach and robust network of relationships taps into the existing community investment ecosystem of philanthropy, CDFIs, and community development nonprofits. A self-described regionally representative organization, IA relies on an interlocking set of stakeholder governance structures to set strategic direction, make funding decisions, approve investments from the IA fund, and provide direct community accountability for adhering to IA’s mission and values. Its board of directors includes regional stakeholders with a diversity of identities and perspectives representing CDFIs, foundations, and community organizations. A grassroots CAC includes community leaders and grassroots community organizations that represent diverse populations. The investment committee is a group of values-oriented investment professionals that includes board members, CDFI partners, and national perspectives. Board members and members of the investment committee are approved by the board, with input from staff, while current members of the CAC nominate and approve new members.
IA’s website states, “Our investment strategy, pipeline, impact goals, and governance are guided and grounded by place-based community stakeholders.” This power shift in who directs capital strategies—from technically expert lenders to those who focus on community priorities—is crucial for moving away from the traditional paradigm of market, scale, and sustainability. Innovative financial structures can meet community needs that traditional capital investors cannot, while the sort of formalized community governance that IA has offers an added layer of assurance that community voice has an equal and enduring place at the table.
In less than two years, IA’s funding has served 115 counties, aided more than 50,000 people (most of them in rural, coal-impacted, or low-income areas), and helped secure an additional $33 million in grants and loans from other funders and lenders. Almost 80 percent of its loans were possible only because of IA’s flexible terms and funding structures—without IA, those projects would have struggled or failed to move forward. Looking ahead, IA has plans to pilot new innovative investment approaches (including collaborating with the federal government and nonprofit intermediaries to use money from the US Environmental Protection Agency’s Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund), launch a regional initiative to support community-driven downtown development, collaborate with regional partners to increase climate resilience, and continue to create new investment vehicles and raise capital for local needs that are not being addressed by the current investment ecosystem. Under this new model, investment in Appalachia will be grounded in Appalachia.
Patient, flexible leadership and funding will be needed for the field of community development finance to evolve from the principles of market, scale, and self-sufficiency and fulfill its promise of increasing equity and opportunity in historically disadvantaged communities. Philanthropy will be essential for this move, but so will public and private developers, other public- and private-sector partners, and, most important, the empowered community residents and organizations who will be in the driver’s seat.
As this transformative arc unfolds, community quarterbacks like LTR and IA will translate the wishes of community residents into creative, flexible local and regional plans to attract financial resources and enable residents to play a meaningful role in how capital is deployed. Leadership development and training organizations, like the Center for Community Investment (whose programs have provided critical support for the leaders and work of CORE, LTR, and IA), will build local capacity and share innovative models with the field to advance the paradigm shift.
Leaders in community development across sectors will need to help the field change deep-seated ways of acting and attitudes, test new approaches, make appropriate incentive and policy changes, and move from a narrow problem-oriented point of view to a systems-change perspective. The technical and political barriers to this shift are indeed substantial, but they can be overcome, as the innovative projects discussed here, from Appalachia to Southern California, demonstrate. By following these new models, the field has an opportunity to build a consensus around a new approach to financing community development, so that it can finally tackle the problems it was created to solve.
This article was first published in the Stanford Social Innovation Review. Read the original article
Earlier this month, we lost a voice that rang for decades with the clarity of truth and the warmth of eternal joy. Nikki Giovanni, the acclaimed poet, professor and icon of the Black Arts movement, passed away at the age of 81. The news struck me with the force of personal loss — not just because we lost a literary giant but because Giovanni's words have been a constant companion in my journey toward understanding the fullness of Black consciousness and the power of poetic expression.
As I sit with this loss, I remember how Giovanni's work exemplified what James Baldwin called "the artist's struggle for integrity." As a leading voice in the Black Arts Movement of the 1960s and '70s, her fiery and radically conscious poetry challenged social conventions while celebrating Black life's beauty and resilience. She didn't just write about revolution — she embodied it in every verse, her teaching and every dimension of her public life.
My first encounter with Giovanni's work was in the early years of high school. Her words didn't just speak to me; they ignited something profound within me. In “Cotton Candy on a Rainy Day,” she wrote of the sweetness that persists even in life's storms — a metaphor that would become central to my understanding of Black joy as a discipline of resistance. Her ability to weave together the personal and political, the tender and the fierce, showed me that our stories could be both protest and celebration. Her work became a source of inspiration, motivating me to search for my identity as a seminarian.
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For 35 years at Virginia Tech, Giovanni shaped generations of writers and thinkers, proving that the classroom could be a space of radical imagination and transformation. She understood that teaching was about imparting knowledge and awakening consciousness. Her legacy lives on in the countless students who learned from her that poetry could be both a sword and a healing balm. While others might have been content to document our pain, she celebrated our triumphs, love and ordinary moments of grace. As a cornerstone in the Black Arts Movement, she demonstrated that our resistance could be expressed through celebration as much as through protest.
Giovanni's influence was more impactful than ever imagined in my development as a preacher-prophet. Her fearless truth-telling informed me that authenticity was not just about speaking truth to power but about speaking truth to ourselves. When she wrote “Nikki-Rosa”, she wasn't just telling her story — she was permitting all of us to tell ours, to claim our narratives as worthy and beautiful. She was signaling it was alright to insert one's self in the subject line. Giovanni's pen was never divorced from the struggle for justice. Her ideas about Black nationalism were integral to her poetry and activist work, yet she never let ideology overshadow humanity. She taught us that militancy could coexist with tenderness and that revolution could be fueled by love as much as anger.
Sister Nikki’s passing leaves a void in American letters that cannot be filled, but her influence ripples outward through generations of writers, activists, proclaimers and dreamers. Many who sat at her feet learned from her that our stories matter, that joy is a superpower and that love is revolutionary. She showed us that Black consciousness wasn't just about understanding our oppression — it was about recognizing our magnificence. I want to believe that Nikki Giovanni wouldn't want us to dwell in sorrow. She wants us to create, celebrate and continue liberation through love and language. Her words remain a beacon, showing us how to transform pain into power, find light in the darkness and make poetry out of the raw material of our lives.
In one of her final interviews, Giovanni reminded us that her dream "was not to publish or to even be a writer: My dream was to discover something no one else had thought of." She achieved that dream many times over, discovering new ways to articulate the Black experience, new paths to freedom through words and new ways to love ourselves and each other.
Farewell to our warrior-poet, teacher-activist and champion of Black exuberance. I pray we carry forward writing our truths, teaching our children, loving fiercely and resisting beautifully as she did. Nikki Giovanni showed us that poetry could be a path to liberation. Now, it's our turn to walk that path, to create our own verses in the ongoing story of freedom and human dignity.
Rest in power, Sister Giovanni. Your words will forever be our revolution.
Johnson is a United Methodist pastor, the author of "Holding Up Your Corner: Talking About Race in Your Community" and program director for the Bridge Alliance, which houses The Fulcrum.
