Five Years Later: On Memory, Movement, and the Mandate for Philanthropy
George Floyd was born in my hometown—a sobering fact I somehow hadn’t realized until the five-year anniversary of his death. His homicide on May 25, 2020 sparked a global reckoning and catalyzed one of the largest uprisings for racial justice in modern history. That summer stands out clearly in my memory, amid the early days of the pandemic; it felt like a rupture in the status quo, a milestone in our collective consciousness. But five years later, I find myself reflecting less on the flashpoint and more on the aftermath—a reckoning that never quite reached resolution.
A recent New York Times article noted:
“Much has changed since then. Earlier this month, the Pew Research Center found that 72 percent of Americans say ‘the increased focus on race and racial inequality after Floyd’s killing did not lead to changes that improved the lives of Black people.’ The popularity of the Black Lives Matter movement has dipped 15 percentage points from its June 2020 peak, though a slight majority of the public still voiced support.”
Indeed, much has changed—particularly under a new administration that ushered in a fiercely opposing political tone and, with it, a familiar retreat from radical urgency. This, of course, was to be expected. As the Times astutely stated, “There has always been a rhythm to American social movements: forward momentum followed by backlash.” This isn’t new. But what concerns me most is how quickly philanthropic institutions have adjusted their posture in response. While many choose to step back I would be remissed to not acknowledge the few* who are instead leaning in. One example in recent news is the Marguerite Casey Foundation, led by Dr. Carmen Rojas who just announced increasing their unrestricted giving 5x and leveraging their endowment. (*Insider Philanthropy curates a list of additional progressive funders supporting racial justice.)
I see these shifts in the landscape broadly, but also intimately through my client engagements. When I review their fundraising histories, a clear pattern emerges: a flood of unsolicited support that poured in during 2020, only to nearly dry up less than three years later.
Summer 2020, statements of solidarity overwhelmed the nonprofit sector—in the best of ways. Pledges were made. Commitments were announced. Many organizations stretched their capacity to receive and rapidly deploy the influx of support. It was, in some ways, a good problem to have. And yet today, many of those bold declarations have faded into silence. Others have morphed into cautious, incremental funding models. For a sector that positions itself as a partner in social progress, the retreat from grassroots organizing and movement-building is both telling and troubling.
Moments like this present an opportunity—or better yet, an obligation—for philanthropic leaders to break the predictable rhythm of progress and pullback. To shape a new dynamic for access to capital and investment. To refuse the lull of neutrality. To press forward when the headlines fade. Because movement work doesn’t follow election cycles or funding trends. It demands sustained courage, long-term commitment, and an imagination rooted in justice—not optics. This pattern is particularly evident in the behavior of donor-advised funds (DAFs), which reflect not only institutional giving but also the values and priorities of individual donors.
“Donor-advised funds, or DAFs, are accounts where donors can contribute funds, immediately get a tax deduction, and "advise" on where to donate…. DAFs distribute grants to politically engaged organizations 1.7 times more than other funders." (Yahoo Finance)
According to the National Philanthropic Trust, both contributions to and grantmaking from DAFs reached record highs in recent years, with over $52 billion granted in 2022 alone—a 9% increase from the prior year. Yet, much of that wealth remains warehoused rather than mobilized for transformative work. Unlike foundations, DAFs are not bound by annual payout requirements, allowing wealth to accumulate in ways that feel charitable but often function as tax shelters. This trend underscores the need for not just institutional accountability but also a reckoning with how personal philanthropic capital—especially among high-net-worth individuals—can perpetuate the very disparities it claims to address when divorced from urgency, transparency, and community-rooted values.
The recently passed One Big Beautiful Bill further complicates this landscape. While it introduces a temporary charitable deduction for non-itemizing taxpayers, it notably is expected to further increase the popularity of DAFs among the ultra-wealthy, as explained in a recent Yahoo Finance article. At the same time, the bill raises taxes on large private foundations, potentially making DAFs an even more attractive option for donors seeking tax advantages without the transparency or payout obligations. This legislative shift risks reinforcing the trend of philanthropic capital being parked indefinitely rather than mobilized to meet pressing social needs—not to mention the “opaque” effects of the so-called “dark money” that is deployed.
Moreover, while it's true that the sudden influx of resources in 2020 overwhelmed many organizations—some of which lacked the development infrastructure to steward those relationships—it’s troubling how quickly that reality became a rationale for withdrawal. Rather than bear with the growing pains of such a profound shift, many donors and funders opted to retreat, framing their exit as a matter of prudence rather than power.
Still, I hold space for complexity. There’s a sharp critique to be made about institutional timidity and the performative nature of some 2020-era promises. At the same time, there is value in honoring the incremental progress that was made—the shifts in narrative, the new collaborations, the moments of truth-telling. These are not enough, but they are not nothing.
Decolonizing philanthropy requires both: the willingness to hold power accountable and the wisdom to celebrate hard-won gains without complacency. It asks us to resist binary thinking. To grieve and to build. To rage and to rest. To demand more while recognizing the courage it takes to show up at all.
Five years may not be long in the grand arc of history, but it is enough time to ask: What have we learned? What have we risked? And more importantly—
what are we still willing to do?
As we mark five years since his murder, may we remember George Floyd not only as a symbol of injustice, but as a father, a friend, and a human being whose life mattered. Let his memory compel us to resist apathy, to challenge complacency, and to invest—earnestly and continuously—in the kind of world where dignity, safety, and justice are not conditional. Whether through our giving, our leadership, or our daily choices, may we each ask: How am I showing up for the movement today?
For those seeking to take meaningful action, consider supporting organizations at the forefront of racial justice work. You can donate directly to the Black Lives Matter Global Network Foundation or support local Black-led organizing groups in your community.