Isolation: Nonprofit Arts Organizations, Can You Help With That?
The “Phantom Effect,” family and friends, and a wish for 2023 for my fellow arts people
The year is coming to an end. It seems that every year’s end, I feel sadder and sadder because we as the people of the United States always insist on taking two steps forward, three steps back, four steps sideways, and then get crushed by the old Monty Python 16-ton weight.
Splat.
I recently read about isolation, potentially not the best thing for me to read when feeling sad like this. It got me thinking about nonprofit arts organizations and their potential (if not their intention) to bring people together. For the most part, they don’t, unless you count the monetization of art bringing people into a single museum or performance venue, having parted with money, and determined to have a good time.
I used to call that the “Phantom Effect.” Like any artistic venture’s audiences, those who have seen Andrew Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera generally fall into one of several categories: loved it, hated it, liked it, didn’t much like it, and “Was that the one with the rowboat in the basement?”
For the most part, those in the theater community have tended to fall in the loved it/hated it categories.
For those who aren’t theater people, which is the vast majority, those who have shelled out hundreds of dollars per ticket because Myrna back home told them that when you go to New York, they have to see that Phantom thing because, by gosh, it’s the best show ever and they can’t miss it because it’s worth every penny and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the chandelier.
Let’s say you’re that accountant from Omaha who paid a king’s ransom to a guy in Connecticut because the hotel uses that broker and you didn’t know you had to buy tickets well in advance to get a good seat. Your nose has fairly exploded with money on this venture. The house goes dark, you’re tired, disoriented, and a little excited, and the show begins.
And you hate it. Start to finish.
But you don’t tell anyone that. Because the “Phantom Effect.”
The “Phantom Effect” gauges your feelings about the show by how much you paid for the ticket. No one wants to feel like a sucker, least of all you. The show couldn’t possibly have been that horrible because look how popular it is! You alter your perception of the evening so as to justify the amount of money you sank into the venture. So, when you get back to Omaha and head out to a casino in Council Bluffs with your buddies on a Saturday night, you might tell them how incredible that Phantom thing was. You might even tell them it’s the best show ever and you can’t miss it because it’s worth every penny and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the chandelier.
Happens all the time. Not even consciously. It’s a version of The Emperor’s New Clothes.
The peer pressure of the holidays is much like the “Phantom Effect.” You’ll see your family, perhaps. Maybe that’s good. Maybe not. Or, if you don’t have family close by, you’ll see someone else’s family. Maybe that’s good. Maybe not. And by gosh you’ll just tell everyone how incredible they are. You might even tell them that they’re the best family ever and you wouldn’t have missed their party because it’s worth every moment and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the fruitcake.
The “Phantom Effect,” when applied to the family and friends, can cause people to disassociate with the periphery of friendships (and family relationships) in one’s life. You might believe that you have a boatload of friends and there will never be a time when you don’t.
“We seek the safety of isolation even as it kills us.”
— Hank Green, “A Beautifully Foolish Endeavor”
There is a point in your lifetime when you will have the most friends and family that you will ever have. Perhaps that’s now. Yet that feeling of jubilant isolation — the irrational joy you might feel when all is quiet around you — becomes apparent only when you are at, or at least near that point. Every moment beyond that point is, for the most part, a shedding of friendships. You move, they move, your kids grow up and out, your job changes — whatever the reason, there are friendships that fall by the wayside with no ill intention. Finally, at far too young an age, a lot of people find themselves nearly (or actually) alone.
Nonprofit arts organizations could solve that issue if they wanted to. They have not only the ability, but the community’s permission to create ways in which people can freely (both in terms of movement and money) meet new people, establish new friendships, and find ways not to end up alone. And yet, most continue to act like profit-making ventures that happen to take donations, having no easy community impact like that of a senior center or a Boys & Girls Club.
To my nonprofit brethren for over 30 years: in 2023, regardless of everything else you might want to achieve, both for yourself and your organization, find your impact. If you can’t figure out a way to feed, clothe, house, protect, cure, mitigate danger to, provide justice to, teach reading to, or in any way, level the playing field for people, at least you can provide the opportunity for human interaction. You know how to do that. It’s important. And it’s measurable, which should give you the impetus to find funding for it.
Or, we can continue to seek the safety of isolation even as it kills us.
Based in Kirkland, Washington, Alan Harrison is a writer and speaker specializing in nonprofit organizations, strategy, the arts, and life politics. His columns appear regularly in major publications. Contact him directly at alan@501c3.guru.
If you’re feeling generous or inspired, just click on the coffee cup above. You don’t have to, of course, but if you can afford it and find some value here, please provide the desperate need for caffeine.
Based in Kirkland, Washington, Alan Harrison is a writer and speaker specializing in nonprofit organizations, strategy, the arts, and life politics. His columns appear regularly in major publications. Contact him directly at alan@501c3.guru.
If you’re feeling generous or inspired, just click on the coffee cup above. You don’t have to, of course, but if you can afford it and find some value here, please provide the desperate need for caffeine.
Alan is always looking for good opportunities to write and consult for nonprofits that need a hand. And, of course, that elusive Perfect Opportunity™.
