Black Philanthropy Month: Turn That Umbrella Upside Down. We're All in This Boat Together.

By LaDawn Sullivan

There are two kinds of people when it starts raining.

The first kind opens an umbrella, tucks themselves safely underneath it, and walks a little faster, hoping to avoid everyone else's puddles.

The second kind notices somebody else standing in the rain and instinctively scoots over.

"Come on," they say. "There's room under here."

I've always admired the second kind.

Lately, though, I've been wondering if we've been using the umbrella all wrong. Maybe it's time to turn that umbrella upside down.

Stay with me.

An upside-down umbrella doesn't just protect one person. It catches rain. It collects something that can be shared. It becomes less about shielding ourselves from the storm and more about gathering what we need to weather it together.

That's philanthropy. That's community. That's Black resilience. That's Black giving at its very best—not an individual act, but a collective commitment to making sure nobody faces the storm alone.

As someone who has spent more than three decades in philanthropy and the nonprofit world, I've seen enough storms to know they don't send invitations. Economic downturns. Political attacks. Funding cuts. Pandemics. Escalated Racial injustice. Policy shifts. Days when the heat refuses to break, and the forecast seems determined to test your patience. Life has a funny way of reminding us that none of us gets a permanent exemption from hard seasons.

Some folks are getting wetter than others; that's true. Inequity has always made sure of that. But eventually, every one of us feels the rain.

That's why I smile a little when people talk about "those communities" or "those nonprofits" as if they're somehow disconnected from the rest of us.

There is no "them." There is only us. We're all in this boat together. And if the boat springs a leak, it doesn't matter whose side of the boat the water is coming in on.

My dad, Big Jim Sullivan, understood that long before I ever worked in philanthropy. He is a former NFL football player, an educator, a barbecue man, and one of the funniest people I've ever known. He had a way of making profound truths sound like they were just part of the conversation over ribs and baked beans.

He'd proudly tell customers, "Our baked beans are unleaded... no gas." Then he'd grin before delivering another one of his classics. People came for the food, but they stayed because he made them feel like they belonged.

Looking back, I realize he wasn't just serving barbecue.

He was building community.

Everybody had a seat. Everybody had a story. Everybody mattered.

That's philanthropy, too. Not because money changes hands, but because humanity does.

I learned from him - and from generations of Black families - that generosity isn't measured by the size of your wallet. It's measured by the size of your willingness.

Someone brings the potato salad. Someone else brings folding chairs.

Somebody knows a young person looking for their first job. Someone has a truck.

Someone has wisdom. Someone has connections.

Someone has fifty dollars. Someone else has five.

Together, somehow, there is always enough.

That's the story of Black philanthropy. We have always multiplied what we had instead of mourning what we didn't. We have pooled our resources, shared our networks, stretched every dollar, and invested in one another because our collective future depended on it.

Our ancestors turned their umbrellas upside down every single day.

They gathered Time. Talent. Treasure. Testimony. Ties.

Those Five Ts weren't invented in a strategic planning retreat. They were practiced on front porches, around kitchen tables, in churches, beauty salons, barbershops, union halls, and neighborhood cookouts where people understood that survival has always been a team sport.

That's the lesson I keep coming back to.

Maybe your umbrella catches resources. Maybe mine catches relationships.

Maybe yours catches influence. Maybe someone else catches hope.

Whatever it catches, don't let it roll away. Hold onto it just long enough to share it.

At the BRIC Fund, we often say we're building strong Black communities BRIC by BRIC. That has never meant one organization can do it all. Quite the opposite. Every donor. Every volunteer. Every mentor. Every nonprofit leader. Every giving circle. Every foundation partner. Every neighbor who says, "How can I help?" is pouring what they've gathered into something much bigger than themselves.

An upside-down umbrella.

And here's the beautiful thing: when enough of us do that, it starts looking a lot like a boat with everybody rowing in the same direction.

Not perfectly. Not always at the same pace. But together…

That spirit feels especially meaningful during Black Philanthropy Month. This year's theme, Many Voices. One Movement., reminds us that no single donor, nonprofit, foundation, or community leader carries the movement alone. Our individual acts of generosity become transformational when they move in the same direction.

In a time when so much tries to divide us - politics, race, economics, neighborhoods, generations - we cannot afford to confuse independence with isolation. Community has never required us to be the same. It has always required us to remember that our futures are connected.

When one family thrives, the neighborhood grows stronger.

When one nonprofit succeeds, a community gains another trusted anchor.

When one Black child sees possibility, all of us move a little closer to the future our ancestors imagined.

That's how resilience is built, BRIC by BRIC.

So the next time life starts pouring (and it will), I hope we remember that protecting ourselves is only half the assignment.

The other half is making sure someone else has room.

Better yet...

Turn that umbrella upside down. Catch every blessing you can.

Because blessings were never meant to stop with us.

Pass them around. Share them generously.

That's what Black giving has always looked like. Many voices. One movement. Countless acts of generosity creating a future none of us could build alone.

And keep rowing… because we're all in this boat together, and we'll reach the shore a whole lot sooner if everybody has an oar.

bricfund.org/build-bric