Philanthropy is purportedly rooted in a ‘love of humanity’, yet its operating systems are often transactional. Of course, “philanthropy” encompasses an extraordinary range of actors, from small family foundations to major multilateral donors, and not all fall into the same patterns when supporting frontline climate justice nonprofits. Still, the prevailing norms that govern much of the sector—short grant cycles, risk aversion, and an emphasis on measurable outcomes—tend to shape behavior even among those trying to work differently. For many frontline conservation and climate justice groups, whose pressures are intensifying across ecological, political, and personal dimensions, traditional approaches to giving can feel misaligned with present needs.

Too often, donors equate success with easily counted outcomes: hectares protected, tons of carbon sequestered, or numbers of beneficiaries reached. Yet much of the real progress happens off-ledger. An Indigenous woman leader breaking taboos to speak about gender-based violence, villagers reviving their language classes without outside funding, or waste pickers returning from international exchanges to form cooperatives are not “soft” outcomes; they are signs of social resilience. Impact today may not be impact tomorrow, and philanthropy that relies only on fixed indicators risks constraining the agency it hopes to build. That said, funders’ reliance on metrics often stems from legitimate accountability requirements—trustees, boards, or taxpayers need evidence of effectiveness. The challenge is not measurement itself, but finding ways to value change that defies easy quantification.

A more adaptive ethos would treat grants as two-way relationships rather than transactions between funders and frontline climate justice nonprofits. Funders could expect to underwrite learning, pivots, and even failure. One youth climate organizer once described a $2,000 grant in West Africa that initially flopped. Ten years later, the same group had won a national award for emissions-reduction work in the very municipality where it had once failed—an achievement made possible by funders who stepped in after the first donor had walked away. This philosophy reflects a broader pattern across conservation: a sense of meaningful contribution is one of the strongest protective factors against burnout, yet chronic underfunding and job insecurity can erode it, if not prevent people from being involved. Protecting those who protect nature requires investing in their well-being as people and staying power, not only their deliverables. Still, flexibility is not a cure-all; it works best when paired with transparency, mutual trust, and clear expectations on both sides.

Read the full article about supporting frontline climate justice nonprofits at Rhett Ayers Butler, Mongabay Founder.