Activists Ablaze
Burning commitment? Burned-out is more like it
by Paula Martinac

The news that Elizabeth Toledo, execu-tive director of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force (NGLTF), has resigned her post after only one year is raising quite a few eyebrows. But Toledo’s departure also raises questions, not just for that organization, but for the entire lesbian and gay movement. The fact is, we expect a lot from our activists. How, then, can our organizations come up with new and imaginative ways to retain our talented, experienced leaders?

Toledo has pointed to "family matters" as the reason for her speedy exit from NGLTF, citing a need to relocate to take care of her ailing mother. In this particular case, though, it’s tempting to conclude that there were other forces at work, like institutional dysfunction. After all, an organization that runs through executive directors like they’re
romantic flings–Toledo was NGLTF’s sixth director since 1992–can’t simply be experiencing a streak of bad luck.

But other high-level resignations–especially those of long-time veterans–have also jolted our movement in the last few years. The Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center’s Lorri Jean decided to re-enter the for-profit sector, and rumors surfaced in the past that the Human Rights Campaign’s Elizabeth Birch might do likewise. Beatrice Dohrn, legal director of Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund (LLDEF), left to fulfill a personal goal of running a carpentry business, while senior attorney Suzanne Goldberg became a law professor. It’s hard not to wonder if many leading activists are burning out after too many years of fighting the good fight.

"There are tremendous demands put on the people who work in these organizations," says Fran Goldstein, LLDEF’s deputy director since 1998 and an activist since the early 1980s. "The lawyers here work long hours. People are very passionate about what they’re doing, and they always feel like they could be doing more. And the fact is, they could, because there’s an endless amount of work to be done."

A lot, of course, depends on the personality of the activist. In the last 20 years, I’ve met many lesbian and gay activists who were self-sacrificing to the point of being self-righteous. You know the type: "I can’t possibly quit now! My work is too important! Who will fight for our rights if I don’t?"

But I also know men and women who unapologetically leave their queer-movement jobs at 6 o’clock in order to spend time with lovers, family, and friends. However, because many people have trouble striking that balance between work and personal life (even in the corporate world), our organizations have to look at the expectations they hold out for their employees.

Twenty years ago, when the movement was still fairly young, the common view was that activists should work long hours for little money. And, if an organization was run as a collective, everyone took home the same meager amount on payday. In recent years, however, things have changed considerably, with the heads of the largest gay nonprofits now pulling in six-figure incomes.

"The economy and the job market forced nonprofits to raise salaries," Goldstein notes. "They had to get more sophisticated about their employees and recognize that people make sacrifices to do this kind of work." Now lesbian and gay organizations like LLDEF offer competitive salaries and generous benefit packages, including paid vacations, 401(k) retirement plans, and health insurance for domestic partners and dependents.

But even if activists no longer have to starve in order to work for a queer organization, the problems of workload and time remain formidable. More and more of us are becoming parents, and many have aging family members who need our care. And the truth is, family obligations often interfere with work, as Toledo maintains they did for her. "No industry or job should be so demanding," she asserts in her letter of resignation, "that important personal matters–particularly a commitment to family–must be compromised."

LLDEF has instituted personnel policies to address the thorny issues of workload and time. Like an increasing number of for-profit businesses and local governments, LLDEF now offers its workers what in human-resources lingo is called an Employee Assistance Program. Through this program, employees who are having problems like balancing a tough workload with the needs and demands of family can consult an adviser outside of the workplace and receive counseling.

In terms of time, LLDEF offers not only a generous amount of vacation but also paid sabbaticals for staff who have been with the organization for six years or more and have made a significant contribution. This summer, for example, the senior counsel in Lambda’s Chicago office will be taking a two-month break from the considerable demands of her job.

Eventually, lesbian and gay organizations may have to face other personnel issues, too, like daycare, flex time, and job sharing by qualified partners. With creative thinking and planning, our movement can combat the burnout that accompanies the tiring and often frustrating work of social change.

Living in New York City, Paula Martinac is the author of seven books. She can be reached at LN@aol.com.