Article: Pro Bono Blues

My personal pro bono policy is pretty simple:

I don't work for free or token payment for major instititutions with multimillion-dollar budgets nor for organizations that pay top-heavy salaries (my benchmark for chutzpah is the three-quarter million-plus compensation package for the top exec at the leading national arts advocacy group, which consistently expects artists to volunteer).

I sometimes contribute speaking, consulting, or writing at a discount or without monetary compensation for organizations and causes I consider worthy, if their policy is to treat everyone the same. (If it turns out they are paying everyone but artists, for instance, no dice.) I make those decisions on a case-by-case basis: how much do I care about the issue? How interested am I in exploring the subject? How effective will a particular publication or conference be as a vehicle to put my ideas into circulation?

When people are rising to do something collectively, something that matters to me, I feel a sense of collective ownership. Community organizing is often rooted in uncompensated work by people who may lack privilege, who passionately want change, and who are therefore willing to take on joint responsibility. I don't see exploitation in that, so it's easy for me to say yes.

After all this practice, I'm pretty good at taking care of myself, so I seldom have regrets about my choices. And I don't mind being asked: I always tell clients, editors, and sponsors to be honest with me about what they can afford, and with a basis of trust and time permitting, we can find a way to make it work. So I've made a personal peace with one end of the equation.

But what about the other end? All those institutions and individuals who evidently haven't engaged with the ethics of their own actions? What can be done to awaken them?

Here's a plea from my friend Mighty Mo Rodgers, singing with the French blue harmonica player Jean Jacques Milteau: searching for a "Heart of Gold."