I first conceived of the idea for this book as the culmination of twenty-five years of work with the Sheridan Group. Much of the writing took place in the waning months of the Obama presidency; I was optimistic about what the future would hold and what the Sheridan Group could achieve with Hillary Clinton as our next president. Now our country is in a vastly different place. The world feels fragile; the situation of our country dire. Yet it seems to me that the stories I have told in this book are even more important in these troubled times.
One week after the 2016 election, I was set to give the keynote speech at an annual convention for Independent Sector, a group often seen as the voice for the nation’s nonprofits. I had written the speech in some rare quiet moments in the fall of 2016, but after the election I knew I had to start again from scratch. Scott Fay, a vice president at the Sheridan Group, and Matt Schlesinger, an associate, struggled with me as I ping-ponged between despair and anger. The content and tone of the speech shifted hourly as I rapidly moved through phrases of grief and frustration. They hung in with me as we tried to put words and direction and emotion on paper.
As we worked on the speech I found myself thinking over the chapters of this book, looking for moments in the past when we had found hope in times of darkness. In a way, it was perfect timing for rethinking my talk; I had just spent months pulling together stories of successes in my career, victories that had sprung from worrisome times. I remembered the feelings I had when George H. W. Bush and then George W. Bush got elected and seemed to be poised to turn back the clock on many of the issues I’d championed and cared about, including cancer funding and LGBT rights. I remembered that out of very dark moments and moods we have found the strength and resilience to create some transformative moments in social policy—Ryan White is a perfect example.
What we eventually settled on for the speech was a direct and forceful political argument: in the face of adversity, the only choice is to stand up and fight back. There is no tougher audience than one that is anxious, depressed, and full of dread, but I wanted to confront them and challenge them, to push them to respond to the election results by going on the offensive through policy and advocacy. My point was clear: the nonprofit sector needs to offer leadership that brings the American public together. They are the sector that needs to step in with policy solutions and political pressure to ensure that the next four years are not as dark as our fears. I was walking a fine line; demoralized people rarely appreciate a confrontation, and the wounds of the election were still very fresh. But it was clear to me that there was, and still is, an opportunity for nonprofits to step up and start the work that can pull successes out of our defeat.
So while our current political situation is the polar opposite of what it was when I started writing, the same things are relevant. After all, this book is about the power of democracy; it’s about the power of individuals to make change; it’s about trusting yourself and your own power to engage with bold abandon in the messy and beautiful process of politics. These stories are my views on the change we envisioned and the processes we endured to try to make the world a slightly better place. This book is a collection of stories about people and issues that give voice and example to the spirit of America as an idea—something that keeps happening and changing, sometimes improving, sometimes not. Revolutions are never fought just by leaders; they are fought by many individuals who care deeply and passionately that change is needed, and who come up with solutions to inspire and create that change.
When I sat down to write this epilogue I asked my friend and collaborator what I should focus on. Her answer stopped me in my tracks: “Write about the purpose of your life’s work,” she offered, with a laugh. Seriously? I was stuck for weeks. How could I define my life’s work when I see so much more work ahead? Summing up my work to date feels like writing my own epitaph—and that’s not something I am ready to do. Yes, the 2016 election was incredibly disheartening, but I know I have more to do, more causes to fight for, more ideas to move into the forefront of the political dialogue. There is no way my life’s work is complete. So instead of writing my own epitaph, I will leave you with this: If you picked up this book to learn how to help the good do better, I hope you are able to learn not only from my successes but also from my failures. I hope you see that even when our country’s political scene is at its darkest, there is always hope. I promise you that I will keep working to make this country better for as long as it is possible, and I hope you will join me.