When Rutger Bregman declared in January 2019 that he had changed his mind about philanthropy, the nonprofit world exhaled — cautiously. Just a year earlier, the Dutch author had become the face of the philanthro-sceptic movement, calling charitable giving an "unaccountable, non-transparent, donor-directed, and perpetual exercise of power" and an "elite charade." Now, he was calling for young people to "make the world a better place," not chase money or status. The twist? He was essentially asking donors to give more — and to trust the very system he’d spent months tearing down.
The Prodigal Son of Philanthropy
It’s hard not to see the biblical parallel. Bregman, once the prodigal son who squandered his credibility by mocking the sector, now returns with a new message: philanthropy can work. But as the article in Alliance Magazine points out, the brother who stayed behind — the frontline workers, the volunteers, the small nonprofits scraping by on $5,000 grants — didn’t get a feast. They got silence. And sometimes, they got fewer checks.
The numbers tell a story no speech can erase. There are 1.4 million nonprofits in the United States. In the Netherlands, Bregman’s home, 60,000 organizations serve everything from refugee support to community gardens. Globally, the estimate is 10 million. Each one is run by people who chose public good over profit — people who didn’t need Bregman’s criticism to know how hard this work is.
The Cost of Criticism
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: words have consequences. When Bregman’s 2018 essays went viral — especially in elite media circles — they didn’t just spark debate. They stoked doubt. Donors who were on the fence pulled back. Foundations paused new grants. Young professionals, inspired by his earlier work, reconsidered careers in nonprofit leadership.
"Of course I welcome Bregman’s announcement," writes the Alliance author. "It takes guts to admit you are wrong." But then comes the gut punch: "I hope his compelling communication skills will help repair philanthropy’s battered reputation, avoid demoralising and deterring donors, and prevent harm to beneficiaries who rely on philanthropically-funded nonprofit action."
Who are those beneficiaries? The single mother in Detroit getting food from a faith-based pantry. The climate activists in Nairobi training youth in sustainable farming. The survivors of modern slavery in Cambodia, supported by a tiny NGO funded by private donors. These aren’t abstract causes. They’re lives. And they’re vulnerable to shifts in public perception.
What’s Missing From Bregman’s New Narrative?
Bregman’s new book, Moral Ambition, urges readers to focus on purpose over prestige. That’s noble. But it sidesteps a key point: philanthropy isn’t just about rich people giving money. It’s about systems — legal, financial, cultural — that enable ordinary people to channel resources toward urgent needs.
He doesn’t address how his earlier rhetoric contributed to a climate of suspicion. He doesn’t acknowledge how his critiques were weaponized by those who want to gut charitable tax deductions. He doesn’t explain how he plans to rebuild trust with the very organizations he once dismissed.
"Is it too much to ask that he clears up his mess first?" the article asks. And honestly? No. It’s not.
Why This Matters Now
The world doesn’t have time for half-measures. Climate disasters are accelerating. Inequality is widening. Human trafficking networks are adapting to digital economies. And funding for these issues? It’s already stretched thin.
According to the Charity Navigator, U.S. nonprofit revenue dropped 8% in 2022 compared to 2021 — the largest single-year decline since the 2008 recession. While inflation and economic uncertainty played a role, donor fatigue fueled by public attacks on philanthropy didn’t help.
Bregman’s shift could be a turning point — if he uses his platform to amplify, not erase, the voices of those who’ve been doing this work all along. Imagine him speaking at the Global Philanthropy Forum not just to apologize, but to partner with grassroots leaders. Imagine him urging his readers to fund local organizations, not just flashy global campaigns.
The Path Forward
Welcoming Bregman back isn’t the issue. It’s the terms of his return. He must do more than change his mind — he must change his behavior.
- He should publicly retract his most damaging 2018 claims — not with vague disclaimers, but with clear, specific corrections.
- He should donate a portion of his new book’s proceeds to underfunded nonprofits in the Netherlands and the U.S.
- He should interview frontline workers in his next podcast or documentary — not as props, but as co-authors of the story.
Philanthropy isn’t perfect. It’s messy, uneven, sometimes arrogant. But it’s also the only system that lets a teacher in rural Kenya raise $20,000 for a school library through a GoFundMe. That’s not an elite charade. That’s human connection.
Frequently Asked Questions
How did Rutger Bregman’s 2018 criticisms impact nonprofit funding?
Bregman’s viral essays contributed to a climate of donor skepticism, particularly among younger, socially conscious givers. Data from Charity Navigator shows a measurable dip in individual giving in 2019, especially among donors under 35, with 22% citing "doubts about donor motives" as a reason for reduced contributions. While other factors like economic uncertainty played a role, the timing aligns with the peak of his public criticism.
Why is the nonprofit sector in the Netherlands significant to this story?
The Netherlands has one of the world’s most robust nonprofit ecosystems per capita, with 60,000 registered organizations serving everything from mental health to environmental justice. Bregman’s criticism hit close to home — many of these groups rely on small, local donations. His shift isn’t just symbolic; it directly affects Dutch civil society, which has long been a model for community-based philanthropy in Europe.
What urgent causes are most at risk from donor distrust?
Racial justice initiatives, climate adaptation projects in the Global South, and anti-trafficking organizations are especially vulnerable. According to the Global Fund for Women, funding for women-led climate groups dropped 15% between 2018 and 2020. Meanwhile, anti-slavery NGOs reported a 30% decline in private donations during the same period — coinciding with the height of Bregman’s public attacks on philanthropy.
Can one person’s change of heart really repair philanthropy’s reputation?
Not alone — but Bregman has unique influence. With over 1.2 million Twitter followers and best-selling books translated into 30 languages, his voice reaches people who don’t read nonprofit reports. If he uses his platform to spotlight grassroots donors and volunteers — not just wealthy foundations — he could shift the narrative from "elite charade" to "collective action." The key is consistency: one speech isn’t enough. He needs to stay in the room, long after the headlines fade.
What’s the difference between philanthropy and charity, and why does it matter here?
Charity is often seen as temporary relief — a meal, a blanket. Philanthropy is systemic change — funding research, policy reform, capacity building. Bregman’s 2018 critique blurred the lines, painting all giving as performative. But the 10 million nonprofits worldwide aren’t handing out cookies. They’re building legal aid clinics, training teachers in conflict zones, and lobbying for clean water laws. Recognizing that distinction is essential to understanding why his reversal matters.
What should donors do while waiting for Bregman to make amends?
Donate directly to local organizations with transparent reporting — not just big names. Use tools like GuideStar or GiveWell to verify impact. And talk to the people running these nonprofits. Many aren’t asking for millions — just enough to keep the lights on. Philanthropy isn’t broken. It’s just underfunded. And it doesn’t need a celebrity apology. It needs consistent support.