Every year, the same cycle hits like clockwork.
November rolls in with land acknowledgments, solemn promises of solidarity, and a wave of “support Indigenous communities!” messaging. Then we’re dumped into Black Friday, Small Business Saturday, Cyber Monday, and Giving Tuesday. Billions will move through the nonprofit world in a matter of days.
And still, Indigenous-led organizations receive less than one percent of total philanthropic dollars. Native communities are expected to build programs, shift culture, and dismantle generations of inequity with a fraction of the resources funnelled into other causes.
But here’s the part nobody wants to say out loud:
Even when money does show up, Indigenous-focused nonprofits don’t always thrive. Sometimes the mission breaks down from the inside. Sometimes the funding dries up from the outside. And almost always, the people doing the work are being undervalued and underpaid.
This piece isn’t about naming people or dragging organizations.
It’s about looking the ecosystem in the eye and asking,
what exactly are we funding—and why don’t these structures support Indigenous communities the way people believe they do?
Let’s talk about where the money runs, where it gets stuck, and where it disappears entirely.
The Landscape: Indigenous Communities Are Dramatically Underfunded
Philanthropy in the U.S. is enormous. Last year alone, charitable giving crossed half a trillion dollars. Giving Tuesday? Billions more. And yet, Indigenous communities—who face some of the steepest health, education, land, and economic inequities—get the smallest slice of the pie.
Native Americans make up nearly 3 percent of the U.S. population and consistently receive around 0.4 percent of philanthropic dollars.
Let me repeat that:
A community with some of the greatest structural need gets less than half a percent of the funding.
And that number shrinks even further when you look specifically at Native-led organizations.
This chronic starvation forces Indigenous orgs into one of two paths:
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survive on volunteer labor, borrowed capacity, and prayers, or
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build creative, multi-stream fundraising models just to stay afloat.
This isn’t mismanagement. It’s math.
The Running World as a Microcosm
Running-based advocacy groups exist at the weirdest intersection of sport, storytelling, fundraising, and community care. They rely on runners to show up, donate, amplify, share, and carry the mission forward on tired legs and big hearts.
It’s beautiful when it works.
And messy when the structure underneath isn’t built for the weight.
Because when philanthropy doesn’t fund Indigenous work equitably—and let’s be honest, it doesn’t—these orgs have to become their own funding mechanism. Run teams become fundraisers. Panels become fundraisers. Events become fundraisers. Visibility becomes currency.
This pressure doesn’t create problems.
It magnifies whatever cracks already exist.
If the governance is strong, the mission expands.
If the governance is shaky, the mission distorts.
The Triple Funding Model: Grants, Brands, and Community Dollars
Most people assume nonprofits survive on individual donations alone.
Not even close.
Indigenous advocacy orgs often rely on a tangled mix of:
• Grants
• Brand partnerships
• Community fundraising (often run teams)
Each stream covers a different need. None are stable. And together, they create a financial tightrope that most supporters never see.
Grants: The Project Builders
Grants fund films, events, workshops, run team initiatives, environmental or educational programs—basically anything with measurable deliverables.
But grants almost never cover:
• salaries
• administrative costs
• long-term sustainability
• general operations
So the part of the org that keeps the mission alive is often the part with the least funding.
Brand Partnerships: The Visibility Engine
Brands love equity when it photographs well.
They’re quick to support a year-one project, sponsor a panel, toss in gear, fund a short film, or partner on a race activation.
But brand support:
• rarely lasts long-term
• rarely scales
• rarely matches what white elite athletes receive
• often comes with unspoken expectations around optics, not outcomes
Year one? Heavy support.
Year two? “Due to budget changes…”
Year three? Silence.
Sound familiar?
Community Fundraising: The Glue
This is the part donors rarely understand.
Because if grants fund programs, and brands fund visibility, then what pays for the actual labor?
Run teams.
Small donors.
Grassroots fundraising.
This money often covers:
• salaries
• travel
• program overflow
• operational costs
• all the gaps left by restricted grants
And here’s the kicker:
Most athletes fundraising for these orgs don’t know their dollars support operations more than the programs they see.
Not because anyone lied.
Simply because no one explained it clearly.
When Indigenous-Led Organizations Thrive
Let’s acknowledge the orgs doing it right:
• clear, grounded mission
• Indigenous leadership driving decisions
• transparent communication
• run teams used to amplify—not subsidize—programming
• programs scaled to capacity
• community stories handled with care
• governance that keeps the mission protected
When these elements align, the work is powerful.
People feel it.
Communities benefit.
Funding flows where it should.
This is the model everyone thinks they’re supporting.
Sometimes they are.
Other times…the reality looks very different.
When the Mission Slips: Power, Personality, and Program Sprawl
Here are the patterns—no names required:
1. Power consolidates around one or two people
When one person becomes the face, the engine, and the decision-maker, the mission slowly becomes whatever they are focused on.
2. Fundraising ties itself to visibility
Panels, films, ambassador programs, projects, events, content creation—all of it increases. Some is meaningful. Some is optics. It’s rarely clear which is which.
3. Program expansion outruns infrastructure
What begins with one mission becomes ten mini-missions.
Advocacy for multiple communities, multiple causes, multiple projects… all without the staff or funding to support the sprawl.
4. Run teams shift from community to revenue
Athletes believe they’re raising money for one thing.
Behind the scenes, their labor may be supporting something entirely different.
Legal? Yes.
Transparent? Not always.
5. Community stories become content capital
Indigenous experiences, trauma, or identity can quietly become material for deliverables, grant reports, or documentaries without clear boundaries.
6. Donor trust erodes quietly
People can sense misalignment even when they can’t name it.
The Optics Economy: What Brand Support Really Looks Like for BIPOC-Led Initiatives
Look at groups doing deeply impactful work to remove barriers in trail running. Programs that:
• fully fund access
• provide lodging, food, and gear
• create community immersion
• offer mentorship
• partner with brands and race organizations
• center BIPOC runners in spaces built for someone else entirely
Year one, brands love it.
They invest.
They show up.
They pay speakers and facilitators (often below standard, but still).
They use the photos in campaigns.
They tell the story.
Year two? Funding gets cut in half.
Workshops disappear.
Speakers aren’t brought back.
Support shrinks to “we’ll provide some product.”
This is what happens in an optics-based economy:
BIPOC-led initiatives get temporary enthusiasm, not long-term investment. Meanwhile, white elite athletes continue receiving multi-year contracts, travel budgets, content crews, and sponsorships the size of small grants.
It’s not personal.
It’s structural.
And if we’re going to talk honestly about funding Indigenous work, we have to include this too.
The Price of Native Labor: How Underpayment Shapes the Advocacy Landscape
Let’s talk about something even less discussed:
Indigenous labor is chronically underpaid.
When Indigenous speakers, coaches, educators, or creators enter the advocacy space, their first paid engagements are almost always undervalued—not because their work is subpar, but because the industry assumes Indigenous people should just be grateful to be included.
A Native speaker doing a full weekend of workshops, community engagement, and race support might earn a few thousand dollars. Later they learn the industry-standard rate was higher.
Why the gap?
Because:
• Indigenous expertise is framed as “perspective,” not professional skill
• cultural labor is expected to be freely given
• DEI labor is emotional labor, and emotional labor is always underpaid
• brands prioritize white elites with bigger contracts and more support
• no one posts their speaker rates publicly, so new speakers don’t know the standard
When Indigenous educators, storytellers, or advocates are underpaid, the issue isn’t just about the fee. It’s about sustainability.
If the people doing the work can’t afford to stay in the work, the work collapses.
The Hardest Question: What Are We Actually Funding?
If we strip all the branding, storytelling, and emotion away, here’s what donors deserve to know:
Where does the money go?
What does it sustain?
Who benefits?
Is the mission growing or drifting?
Are Indigenous leaders actually empowered?
Is the work scaled to capacity or to visibility?
And does the funding structure support the community—or the branding?
Nonprofits can charge for programs.
They can pay salaries.
They can fundraise aggressively.
All of that is allowed.
But transparency is what makes the difference between community-centered advocacy and mission-adjacent momentum.
A Better Model for Indigenous-Led Advocacy
Healthy, sustainable Indigenous-led orgs share:
Community-Grounded Governance
Indigenous leadership that isn’t symbolic—it’s structural.
Mission Boundaries
If the mission expands, it’s because the community asked for it, not because visibility demanded it.
Clear Financial Transparency
Donors know what their money supports.
Athletes know what their labor funds.
Ethical Storytelling
Community narratives handled with consent. Not content.
Sustainable Scaling
Doing fewer things with excellence beats doing everything with exhaustion.
Accountability
Boards that act.
Leadership that shares power.
Systems that protect the mission from any one person.
This is the model that works.
This is the model donors think they’re supporting.
This is the model the running world needs more of.
A Call for Donors, Runners, Brands, and Supporters
If you truly support Indigenous sovereignty through running, here’s the work:
Ask better questions.
Expect transparency.
Fund long-term, not one-time.
Pay Indigenous speakers and creators fairly.
Support governance, not charisma.
Support capacity, not just programming.
Support community-driven missions, not personality-driven movements.
Because advocacy rooted in community deserves funding rooted in clarity.
Because Indigenous-led work deserves consistent investment, not cyclical enthusiasm.
Because the future of this movement depends on whether we build structures strong enough to hold the mission—not just the moment.
Where the money runs shapes where the movement goes.
Make sure it’s running in the right direction.
Ready to Build Something Better?
If this conversation about funding, transparency, and Indigenous-led advocacy stirred something in you, that’s the point. The running industry is shifting, and organizations that want to do this work well need guidance rooted in lived experience, not performative optics.
This is exactly why I created Representation in Motion
A consulting practice designed to help brands, race organizations, and nonprofits:
• build equity into their structures, not just their marketing
• develop programs that serve communities instead of exploiting them
• create partnerships that last longer than a campaign cycle
• pay Indigenous speakers, creators, and leaders fairly
• design governance and accountability systems that protect the mission
• align their impact with the people they claim to champion
If your team is ready to move from intention to integrity, I can help you get there.
Learn more or reach out here:
Representation in Motion – Consulting for brands and organizations who want to get this right the first time.