“What will I get if I donate?”
We were sitting across the desk from a potential donor, talking about the work and explaining why we were looking for support. He had listened to us for some time before asking the question. There was nothing confrontational in his voice. He simply wanted to know what would come back to him if he decided to give.
For a moment, we didn’t know how to answer. We were not selling anything, and there was no service or product that we could offer in return. The money would go towards work that would benefit someone else, perhaps someone the donor would never even meet. Finally, we told him, “Aapki insano mein ginti hogi.” You will be counted among human beings.
He looked at us, and we waited. We did not try to explain the sentence or turn it into a speech. The conversation eventually moved on, but the question stayed with us because it was not really about that one person. It was something we would encounter in different forms as we continued looking for support.
On another occasion, we were discussing support for an event with someone who seemed willing to contribute. The conversation was going well until the question of the inauguration came up. He wanted to know who would be there. If the President came, he said, they could contribute. If the Vice President came, that would work too. The names seemed to matter almost as much as the event itself.
We were still talking about the same work, the same people and the same purpose. Nothing about the programme had changed. Yet the possibility of receiving support had suddenly become connected to who would be standing on the stage. It made us realise that sometimes people were not only deciding whether a cause deserved their support; they were also thinking about what their association with that cause might give them in return. A photograph with a prominent person, a place at an important event or the visibility that came from being publicly associated with a social initiative could itself become part of the value of a donation.
Over time, however, we encountered another kind of situation, one in which the question was no longer what a donor would receive from us, but what we might be giving someone simply by accepting their money.
There were people whose background and activities were such that we did not want Antardrishti to become publicly associated with them. Their money could certainly have been useful. There was always work that needed funding, and there was never a time when resources were so abundant that another contribution would have made no practical difference. But accepting a donation also meant accepting the relationship that came with it.
If we accepted someone’s money, we might acknowledge them publicly, invite them onto our platform, photograph them with our work or allow them to tell others that they were supporting Antardrishti. If the person’s own activities were something we considered harmful or unacceptable, that association could give them something much more valuable than a receipt. It could give them legitimacy.
That was where we had to draw a line. We could use the money for something good, but in accepting it we might also be helping to make the donor’s own image look better. Our name could become part of their story, and our credibility could become something they could borrow. We were not comfortable with that, so there were occasions when we simply refused the support.
It was not an easy decision. Saying no to money is much easier when you do not need it. When there are programmes to run, people to reach and expenses to meet, every contribution has an obvious practical value. But we gradually understood that fundraising was not only about how much money could be collected. It was also about what kind of relationships an organisation was willing to create in the process.
Looking back, those conversations taught us something different each time. One person wanted to know what he would receive for giving. Another was interested in contributing when the event could offer the presence of a President, Vice President or another prominent name. And there were moments when we had to look at an offer ourselves and ask what the donor would receive simply because we had accepted their money.
The answer was not always financial. It could be our name, our platform or the credibility that came from being associated with Antardrishti.
That is why, over the years, we learned that fundraising was not simply about finding people who would say yes. Sometimes the more important decision was knowing when a particular yes came at a cost we were not willing to pay.
Not every “yes” was worth having. And sometimes, when an organisation needs money most, it has to know when to say no.