Most organizations should be pro-active, but philanthropists

Marvin Olasky, a thinker who devoted much of his work to understanding the roots of compassion and responsibility, once declared: “Most organizations should be pro-active, but philanthropists concerned with poverty should deliberately be reactive, learning from the efforts of ordinary folks who tired of looking the other way as their communities fell apart.” These words carry with them the weight of humility, for they remind us that those who seek to help the poor must not imagine themselves as saviors descending from above, but as students learning from those who have endured, resisted, and fought for survival.

The meaning of this quote lies in the contrast between proactive and reactive action. In many fields, being proactive—planning ahead, designing strategies, pushing forward—is the mark of wisdom. But when dealing with poverty, Olasky counsels a different posture. The philanthropist, he says, must first be reactive: responsive to the voices of the people, listening to their struggles, watching how they themselves rise against despair, and then joining hands with their efforts. For to impose solutions without hearing the afflicted is to misunderstand the very heart of suffering.

The origin of this insight comes from Olasky’s broader philosophy, often described as the “compassionate conservatism” that shaped discussions of welfare and charity in America. He saw that government programs and wealthy benefactors often failed because they assumed they already knew what the poor needed, while ignoring the resilience and ingenuity of the poor themselves. His call for philanthropists to learn from “ordinary folks” was a cry for humility—for the recognition that wisdom is not the possession of the rich alone, but often shines most brightly among the downtrodden who refuse to give up.

History provides a powerful example of this truth. Consider the settlement house movement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, led by figures like Jane Addams at Hull House in Chicago. Addams did not descend as a distant benefactor with ready-made answers. She lived among the immigrants and the poor, learning their needs firsthand, responding to their efforts to build schools, clinics, and community centers. By reacting to their voices, she created institutions that lifted entire communities. Her success illustrates Olasky’s point: philanthropy without humility becomes arrogance, but philanthropy that listens becomes transformation.

There is something deeply emotional in Olasky’s words, for they reveal both the weariness and the courage of “ordinary folks” who “tired of looking the other way.” This phrase captures the moment when despair is turned into action, when people refuse to watch their neighborhoods decay and instead rise to rebuild them. In such moments, true philanthropists are not those who dictate, but those who stand beside, offering resources and support while honoring the leadership of the community itself.

To future generations, his counsel carries both warning and encouragement. The warning: beware of pride, for the greatest danger in philanthropy is the illusion that wealth gives wisdom. The encouragement: know that even without great riches, the poor themselves have power, vision, and capacity to act. The task of the philanthropist is not to replace this strength, but to nurture it, to be reactive to its emergence, and to help it grow.

The lesson is this: when you seek to help, do not begin with your own voice—begin with the voice of those in need. Practically, this means listening to communities, volunteering within them, supporting their leaders, and ensuring that charity is not a handout but a partnership. It means setting aside the arrogance of thinking you know best, and embracing the humility of being taught by those who live the reality you wish to change.

Thus Marvin Olasky’s words endure: “Philanthropists concerned with poverty should deliberately be reactive, learning from ordinary folks.” Let them be remembered as a charge to all who would heal a broken world. For true compassion does not descend from thrones of wealth—it kneels beside the weary, learns from their wisdom, and together with them builds communities where hope once seemed lost.