Can Johnny Raise Money? How Public Schools Exploit Social Networks

Reading, writing, ‘rithmetic, and raising money. Today, for public education, building the latter competency has never been more important. Schools want your money and they are pushing harder than ever to get it. If you haven’t already felt the heat, you will soon.

This month, a strange envelope arrived in our postal mailbox at home. It looked like a bill, but different, because the envelope had three windows instead of the usual one, and because our name and address was scrawled in freehand. On closer inspection, I saw the handwritten name of our nephew above the printed name of his elementary school in Florida. (My wife and I live in Virginia.) I bit the curiosity bait and opened the letter.

It begins with a handwritten salutation: “Dear Aunt Barbara and Uncle Andy,” followed by preprinted text saying, “We’re hoping to raise much-needed funds through the sales of magazine subscriptions—either new ones or renewals!” At the bottom: our four-year-old nephew’s name—written in adult cursive. How’s that for bravado? And just the week before, we received a similarly-packaged solicitation from our niece (not related to our nephew) asking us to buy magazine subscriptions to benefit her school in California!

Both letters contained several pieces collateral, and a convenient postcard to send to our school-aged loved one informing him or her of our donation to the school. The postcard was thoughtfully pre-printed with the salutation “Dear,” a message, and amazingly, a closing sentiment, “Love,” followed by a blank line for me to fill in my name. (This technique of fundraising enables all parties to be equally perfunctory!)

Even stranger is what’s not included. The communication didn’t provide any information about how the proceeds will be used, or how our relatives will benefit. (Great American Opportunities, the marketing company that sent one of the solicitations, doesn’t provide an address or corporate website to learn more.) There isn’t a website listed for the school, or even a picture of the school (or of any school, for that matter!) to make a visual connection.

All of which leaves me feeling weirdly hollow about my role in a value chain that encompasses magazine publishers, marketing promotion companies, school districts, nieces and nephews—and finally, me. Here’s why:

1. Schools are part of the fabric of local communities. I support close family ties, but those bonds don’t mean I feel compelled to fund my niece and nephew’s schools. That’s the fiscal responsibility of their neighbors, and local government and businesses.
2. The marketing junctions don’t work. Family members making product pitches on behalf of big media companies ostensibly in support of vague school programs seems an odd and convoluted arrangement.
3. The charity request is utterly insincere.
4. The economics are flawed. One letter touts that “Forty percent of every dollar goes to our school.” Wouldn’t my niece or nephew’s school be twice as well off if I contributed 80% directly, and saved the remaining 20% percent myself? Clearly, the media companies are the primary beneficiaries of this marketing program.

The low-overhead appeal of this fundraising tactic is undeniable. Schools compete for the diminishing number of volunteer hours of time-strapped parents. So they ask parents to tap address books and dash off thirty or so letters to relatives and acquaintances, and voila! Money for the school! And no one even had to get off the sofa!

But what’s sacrificed in the process? For starters, sixty percent of every dollar spent. In addition, local communities are circumvented and kids lose the valuable experience of learning face-to-face sales—an important skill no matter what field they enter. Finally—as I can personally attest—away goes the goodwill of otherwise affectionate relatives who now get hit up for donations anytime and anywhere.

Maybe I’m wistful for a kinder, less harried time. When I was in elementary school, a fundraising drive meant hopping on my bike to get every neighbor on Oak Leaf Lane to buy one or more boxes of peanut brittle. That was before “working mom” became a mainstream term, before No Child Left Behind, before federal and state school budget cuts, before child predators, and yes, before big marketing companies salivated over how social networks and heartstrings promotions can stem declining sales for products like magazines in the age of the Internet.

Whether or not such promotions are successful, I find them degrading. If schools need to raise money, they might be better served to hire marketing specialists that understand the nuances of fundraising. In the meantime, my advice: don’t overlook appealing to local community. The most valuable social networks are just a bike ride away.