Requests for grant proposals usually include a litany of instructions. The funder provides questions for would-be grantees to answer, word or character limits for each question, and eligibility criteria. But usually, there is also a hidden requirement that isn't listed in the RFP: the proposal's writing style and grammar must conform to the expectations of the White middle and upper class.
Generally, U.S.-based funders expect grant proposals to use "Standard American English"—the version of English that most White, middle- and upper-class Americans would recognize as "professional." The vocabulary should feel comfortable and easily recognizable to a White middle- or upper-class reader, and the grammar and punctuation should make Strunk & White proud. Proposals must be void of comma splices and contractions, and should use limited passive voice and split infinitives. They must immediately get to the point, use short sentences, and conform to a specific kind of narrative structure that may or may not be described in the instructions. The rationale for funding must fit neatly within mainstream White conceptions of argumentation, objectivity and reason. Proposals must include exactly the right number and kind of ten dollar words. Not too many and not too few.
Proposals that don't fit this mold rarely stand out to program officers and are unlikely to result in funding, especially in a large-scale RFP competition. In other words: if the language in your proposal appears too Black, too Latinx, or too anything-other-than-White, there's a decent chance it won't get funded.
Most grant writers and other players in the field of philanthropy will tell you that the characteristics described above are simply required for "clear" writing. How can funders be expected to understand a nonprofit's work unless our proposals are "clearly written"? Aren't some shared standards necessary for effective communication? But as Asao B. Inoue writes in Above the Well, "making decisions based on the kind of English a person uses is making decisions based on race."
The problem is that "clarity" is not objective. When we talk about "clear" or "professional" language, we are—intentionally or not—talking about race. As Inoue writes:
"We say we just want our lawyers or nurses to speak clearly and effectively in order to do their jobs well, but what we mean by clear and effective speech is language that matches a dominant form of English that excludes Black English and other English varieties. The assumption is that other forms of English are less communicative, less effective, less professional, or less able to do the jobs of lawyering or nursing." (Inoue, Above the Well)
Inoue terms this assumption "White language supremacy": the condition in which individuals are rewarded for using White language habits and practices. Just as White people set the standard for what counts as "professional" hairstyles and clothing, White people define the standards for "clear," "professional," and "convincing" language.
It should go without saying that there is nothing superior about Standard American English, which some scholars refer to as White Mainstream English. Linguists and sociolinguists will tell you that languages take multiple forms, that there are multiple "Englishes" that can be used for effective communication, and that none of them is objectively "better" than the other. But most of us are taught otherwise—and we are taught this early in life. For example, April Baker-Bell identifies two common pedagogical approaches used in U.S. English Language Arts classes: eradicationist language pedagogies and respectability language pedagogies. The former fails to acknowledge Black language as a language at all, in hopes of replacing it with White Mainstream English. In this approach, "Black Language gets interpreted as a defect of the child rather than a defect of the educational system’s response to it." Respectability language pedagogies depart from this framework by recognizing Black language as valid and worthy of respect. However, "the end goal of [respectability language pedagogies] is to simply use Black Language as a bridge to learn White Mainstream English." The end result of these two approaches is more or less the same: Black children learn that replicating White linguistic habits is the only path to success.
The myth that White Mainstream English is objectively superior pervades our society, and philanthropy is no exception. Funders and grant professionals alike expect grant proposals to conform to the norms of White Mainstream English, so that program officers and trustees will perceive them as "clear" and "professional." As in other areas of life, prospective grantees must mold their proposals to fit this standard, regardless of whether this kind of English feels natural, appropriate, or attainable.
To be clear, I am not suggesting that BIPOC are somehow incapable of mastering White Mainstream English or writing winning grant proposals. Nothing could be further from the truth—but that doesn't make it okay to privilege one kind of language over another. BIPOC-led organizations seeking grant funding have little choice but to replicate White standards for "clear" and "professional" writing, regardless of whether they feel this is the best way to communicate their stories and their work. Some may feel very comfortable replicating those standards, but their proposals shouldn't have to read as White in order to attract funders' attention. It doesn't seem like a stretch to surmise that this is one of the reasons BIPOC-led organizations are chronically underfunded.
In addition to imposing restrictions on the ways BIPOC-led organizations communicate, White Language Supremacy positions White grant writers and White organizations to profit off of our comfort with, and proximity to, White Mainstream English. If they can afford to, BIPOC-led organizations often hire someone like me to "translate" their work into language and forms of argumentation that funders will understand and respect. (It's not lost on me that this is how I make my living.) There are a lot of reasons that the development profession is overwhelmingly White, but I'm convinced that White Language Supremacy is one of them. I wonder how different the field would look if fundraising professionals didn't have to pander to White linguistic norms?
If you work for a foundation and you're thinking, "I don't judge based on language use so none of this is applicable to me," think again. Is there any chance your applicants would have a better shot at funding if they hired a professional grant writer? If so, your foundation is making decisions based on White language supremacy. If BIPOC applicants need to either code switch or hire a White person in order to secure funding, then your grants process is inhibiting your efforts to create a more just and equitable world.
So—what's the solution? I'm not sure there's an easy one. Hiring more BIPOC program officers is a great start, although they may still be looking for White Mainstream English, especially if they need to impress White bosses, board members or trustees. Adding flexibility to the proposal format is also a good step in the right direction. For instance, eliminating (or at least dramatically extending) character and word limits is helpful. Some funders have even started to accept video proposals in lieu of a written application. These kinds of steps give applicants more options for how they communicate with funders. However, they don't necessarily alter funders' expectations for what counts as a "good," "clear," "professional" proposal. In other words, even when word counts are loosened, a more concise proposal might still be perceived as better; and video proposals might still be judged for not sounding White enough. Some funders are making an effort to assess prospective grantees based largely on conversations and relationship building, which I think is wise. Although it certainly doesn't eliminate the funder's linguistic biases, it at least avoids a situation where prospective grantees have just one, brief chance to stand out. Any process that gives the funder only moments to judge applicants' worthiness is bound to reinforce racialized ideas about linguistic "clarity."
At a minimum, the field of philanthropy needs to start thinking critically about White language supremacy, and to acknowledge that linguistic injustice is a very real component of structural racism. We also need to acknowledge that grant proposals perpetuate the myth that White Mainstream English is superior. If, as Anoue puts it, "our language participates in racial violence," then most funders' grant processes participate in racial violence as well. I'd like to think a better way is possible.
If you're interested in learning more about language justice and you have the means to spend money on books, you might consider purchasing the work of Asao B. Anoue and/or April Baker-Bell.
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