Armed with hundreds of thousands of dollars from Newman’s Own Foundation and Ozempic creator Novo Nordisk, young Native Americans are leading the fight against persistently high rates of food insecurity in tribal communities.
In a rare example of agency for a beneficiary community, 21 emerging Indigenous leaders recently crafted selection criteria, evaluated applicants and picked two dozen finalists to split a pool of $720,000. Organized by Native Americans in Philanthropy, the 16-to-24-year-old participants said the inclusive process reflected Indian Country values of self-determination and intergenerational relationship-building that more donors should embrace.
“Funders can listen to native youth to know where they should direct resources,” said Native Americans in Philanthropy program manager Savannah Baber, 28.
The resulting Indigenous Tomorrows Fund was successful enough that organizers want to increase next year’s pot to $1 million. Native Americans in Philanthropy — a coalition of grantmakers, tribal leaders and other advocates for increased philanthropic support of Indigenous organizations — has secured half of that funding. They are still seeking partners to commit the other $500,000.
The pilot program was fairly unusual for a grant initiative. Despite shifts towards the trust-based philanthropy championed by MacKenzie Scott and others that removes restrictions on how donations can be used, wealthy funders generally dictate the terms of their giving. It’s still uncommon for the communities receiving the donations to be so directly involved behind the scenes, let alone handed the reins almost entirely. And it’s especially unusual for young people to receive responsibilities beyond, say, a seat at the table or a purely “advisory” role.
More participatory approaches, however, are gaining popularity across the sector. Center for Effective Philanthropy President Phil Buchanan said there’s increased sensitivity to “top-down philanthropy.” But his sense is that it’s rarer for funders to cede decision-making power to others.
“There’s this recognition that a lot of philanthropic mistakes are made when answers to problems other people are experiencing are cooked up by consultants in conference rooms, rather than being informed by those who donors actually seek to help,” Buchanan said.
The fund’s focus on food insecurity therefore made sense to Native Americans in Philanthropy considering the issue’s acute impact in Indigenous communities Settler-colonialism forced them onto unfamiliar reservations and diminished their ability to follow the traditional food practices that had sustained generations.
While rates have fallen, recent U.S. Department of Agriculture surveys suggest American Indian/Alaska Native households still lack access to adequate food at twice the level of white residents. Child obesity is high. And affordable, healthy groceries are even harder to come by in rural food deserts.
The $30,000 grant recipients are tackling those issues in a variety of ways. There’s a multi-generational collective of Shinnecock women in New York who farm kelp to clean up a bay. Or an Arizona-based community center that grows culturally significant crops such as Apache giant squash, distributes fresh produce and trains youth through hands-on land management.
Philanthropy’s sparse giving to Native American-led organizations means there’s little private money for such efforts. Less than 0.5% of funding from large U.S. foundations goes to Native American nonprofits, according to a 2019 report by Candid and Native Americans in Philanthropy.
Native Americans in Philanthropy had already been working to reverse that trend. The group hosts a Native Youth Grantmakers program that teaches Indigenous young adults about the philanthropic sector. Newman’s Own Foundation offered to take that learning a step further by giving them a shot at running an entire fund themselves.
Funders determined the issue areas of food sovereignty and health. Because Newman’s Own supports child nutrition efforts broadly, Baber said the foundation wanted Indigenous youth’s perspectives on advancing food justice. They brought Novo Nordisk on board with an interest in wellness.
Grantmakers proceeded independently from there. But that autonomy didn’t mean they were entirely on their own. Younger philanthropy professionals, elders, NAP staff and funders’ program officers sometimes joined meetings. But their presence only spurred conversation and never dominated conversation, according to younger participants.
Participants said it wasn’t their accomplished resumes or community engagement that made them equipped to join the grantmaking team. It was something more innate that many titans of philanthropy don’t have: the fact that they came directly from native communities.
They were heartened by their peers’ interest in reclaiming land stewardship practices and ensuring access for future generations. Newman’s Own Foundation Indigenous Communities Officer Jackie Blackbird said that interest was highlighted by the volume of proposals; this inaugural cycle received more than 400 applications.
Whether the projects were promoting Indigenous languages to better understand their food cultures or sustainably tending local ecosystems, grant reviewers found a constant in their peers’ embrace of past cultural knowledge to solve today’s problems. They felt the project allowed them to continue the legacies of their ancestors who passed down traditions with future generations top of mind.
“Indigenous youth are reconnecting to their culture and to healing more and more,” Blackbird said. “Projects like the Indigenous Tomorrows Fund help them also build that confidence and learn more about challenges in communities.”
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