In the final days before I lost my wife to cancer, we often relived a memory of Californias millennia-old redwood forest. Arlene and I spent many weekends hiking among the majestic trees, awed at the thought that those same wondrous creatures who watched civilizations rise had also borne witness to our partnership. Soon, I fear Ill have to let go of this sacred space, too, as the fires intensified by climate change threaten to consume the redwoods.

In recent years, experts developed a fancy term for what Im experiencing: eco-anxiety. But as a young woman of color growing up in Camden, N.J., near Superfund hazardous waste sites, I didnt have a name for the kind of grief that comes with losing your community and your special places to environmental degradation. I just knew that something was terribly wrong when loved ones suffered from cancers and respiratory illnesses more often than those who lived in neighborhoods just a few miles away. My sense of injustice is what led me to my current work with the Health and Environmental Funders Network, which organizes grant makers in support of environmental health and justice.

That same righteous anger and hope for something better has propelled people of color across the country for generations to hold the powerful accountable for protecting clean air, clean water, and livable communities. Our communal grief deepened last month after the Supreme Courts ruling in West Virginia v. EPA, which stripped away some of the Environmental Protection Agencys tools to keep industrial polluters in check. And while the recent news of a Senate climatel deal shows promise, its unclear how much the legislation will ultimately benefit the low-income neighborhoods and people of color who bear the brunt of climate change.

Taken together, the devastating Supreme Court ruling and the hopeful congressional action signal an opportunity to redirect attention to the work of environmental-justice groups, which for decades have toiled with minimal support to address climate change in the hardest hit communities.

Consider, for example, that one of the so-called solutions struck down by the Supreme Court was the power of the EPA to implement a cap-and-trade program, which attempts to reduce carbon emissions from year to year by allowing industry to pay when those emissions exceed the government-mandated limit. But instead of reducing emissions, companies often buy credits to pollute more typically in communities of color and low-income white rural areas where most of their fossil-fuel-burning plants are located.

Heres the bottom line: No matter which way the federal winds blow on climate, activists and donors need to organize and invest in proven solutions that dont sacrifice the well-being of large segments of the population. Especially at the state and local level, important opportunities remain to halt new fossil-fuel-producing projects despite the Supreme Court ruling. Theres no better time for grant makers to step up as allies in this work.

A recent analysis of climate funding by the Health and Environmental Funders Network found that 14 percent of total philanthropic dollars spent annually in the United States or $272 million goes to heath and equity issues related to climate change. Compare that with the $10.45 billion spent by the biggest industrial polluters during the past decade on lobbying and greenwashing campaigns that deceive the public into believing companies have adopted environmentally friendly practices when, in reality, they are protecting the status quo. As elected leaders continue to play political football with the health of communities, philanthropy has an opportunity and a responsibility to pick up the slack and invest in bigger and bolder action.

What does this look like in practice? From my experience working with a range of grant makers and nonprofits, climate philanthropy is most effective when it focuses on three strategies: intersectionality, building power, and trust.

An intersectional approach to climate funding. In straightforward terms, this means health donors should see climate change as a health issue, food donors, as a food-security issue, and social service grant makers, as a critical factor in social and economic development. All are connected, especially for people shouldering the worst of climate change. Investments in solutions should be connected as well.

The Kresge Foundation, for example, combines its health care and environmental work recognizing, as the foundation puts it, that climate change is the greatest public health threat of this century. Its efforts include building the capacity of hospitals, health care systems, and public-health institutions to lead climate mitigation and equity advocacy. It also supports professionals in these fields seeking to incorporate climate-related health practices into their work. Along with this strategy, Kresge has more than tripled its funding in the past decade to climate-justice organizations led by people of color.

A focus on power building. Left to their own devices, major institutions and elected officials will rarely do the right thing on climate. That means grant makers must move beyond programmatic or direct-service investments and support work that builds influence. Mobilizing communities; nurturing partnerships with government, business, and research institutions; winning in court and in the court of public opinion are all avenues that movement leaders say are effective if only they received more than a sliver of funding.

Industry understands this well. Between 2008 and 2017, for example, oil companies forked out $1.4 billion on advertisements, largely to promote greenwashing tactics. In 2020 alone, the industry spent at least $9.6 million on Facebook ads to undermine government action on climate by, for example, suggesting that gas created by fracking is a green fuel source.

Philanthropy needs to borrow a page from industry and invest in communications strategies that embrace the relationship between power, narrative, and policy to build support and influence. They should follow the lead of grant makers such as Grace Communications Foundation, which invests in strategic communications, storytelling, and partnerships at food and environmental-justice organizations. The foundations own multipronged communications effort includes consumer-focused websites, a seasonal food guide, and a series of films to shift public appetites and policy toward regenerative agriculture.

Trust in the knowledge and expertise of movement leaders. Unleashing the environmental-justice movements full potential will require the same intentional listening and flexible, trust-based grant making that nonprofit leaders have been forcefully pushing in recent years. A foundations prebaked ideas about what will make their climate investments more effective may have little connection to the work advocates are doing to keep their communities safe, healthy, and economically sustainable. That means they may need to loosen the reins on those identified strategies and listen to what advocates on the ground say they need to address climate and cancer-causing pollution in their communities.

Our nations climate story is a work in progress as the troubling direction of the Supreme Court and inconsistent action by our elected leaders make clear. But one thing is certain: By increasing investment in environmental-health and justice-movement leaders, grant makers can help write a story focused on hope instead of despair.

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The Federal Whiplash on Climate Is a Wake-up Call for Better Grant Making - The Chronicle of Philanthropy