Unlocking Doors: Relational Reparations, Shared Liberation, and the Healing Power of Story

As an NCFP Fellow, I was given the opportunity to explore a question about family philanthropy with the goal of contributing to more effective practices in the field. I wanted to better understand how philanthropy could move beyond extraction toward practices of repair and return. That journey began with questions about wealth, the responsibility wealth holders have, and how family funders might engage more honestly in conversations about the origins of their resources and the harm tied to that accumulation.

The process that unfolded for me was something deeper than an inquiry into funding models. It was a shared journey into humanity, healing, and liberation—one that transformed how I think, how I give, and how I move through the world. While not every family funder will join a reparations cohort, I believe relational reparations has something to teach all philanthropists about the power of seeing each other’s humanity and being in right relationship.

Defining the Process

When I use the word reparations, I mean the act of making a repair. It is about addressing harm that has been done and acknowledging that much of the wealth in this country was built through enslavement, land theft, exploitation, and exclusion. Reparations call us to return what was taken, and to rebuild trust by making amends.

From there, I began to explore relational reparations, the idea that repair does not happen in isolation or transaction. Relational reparations requires entering into the long, often vulnerable work of repairing injustices of the past in the context of relationship. It asks us to stay present with one another, to practice together, to risk discomfort, and to return again and again as we build trust.

And when I speak of return, I mean returning funds to their rightful owners, to communities that were exploited in the accumulation of wealth. It is an act that is both material and spiritual. It is not charity. It is a recognition that what was taken must be restored.

Discovering a New Philanthropic Practice

At first, I assumed the primary challenge of this exploration would be convincing wealth holders to talk about their money, to confront discomfort, and to explore the possibility of returning resources. I thought of it as a question of systems change: Could we model something that helps shift philanthropy from extractive to restorative?

But through my involvement in three powerful initiatives, The Sisterhood, Ripples, and the Liberated Leadership Cohort, I came to understand that relational reparations is not just a model or approach. It is a practice, one that reshapes every person it touches.

The Sisterhood

The Sisterhood was a group of Black and white women (seven, including our facilitator) who gathered periodically for five years to build authentic relationships. White-bodied participants did not merely write checks: they sat in circle, listened, made mistakes, returned, and listened again. Black women brought their full selves, including wisdom, vulnerability, joy, and exhaustion, and were resourced not only materially but also relationally. For example, in our first Return Ceremony, we each brought water from wherever we were, poured it into a shared bowl, and in another bowl, we wrote down the ways money had harmed us and the stories we wanted to release. We burned those papers and then extinguished the flame with our shared water. These rituals marked the return of resources as something sacred, not casual. The Sisterhood showed that return is not only about money, but about presence, accountability, and staying in the room even when it is uncomfortable.

Ripples

Ripples extended this work in a more intimate setting. A small group of women gathered regularly for ritual, reflection, and financial return. And by ritual, I do not mean something abstract or mystical, but intentional acts that made clear the seriousness of what we were doing together. In one especially powerful moment, we held a return ceremony on 40 acres of land owned by a Black woman, land that carried the broken promise of “40 acres and a mule.” Standing together on that soil, we shared stories, grief, and hope, and we placed money back into the hands of a Black landowner. That act of return was symbolic and material. It was a blessing of land, lineage, and possibility.

The Liberated Leadership Cohort

The Liberated Leadership Cohort, created through Threshold Philanthropy, gathered three Black women and three Indigenous women in a process of return without conditions. They received financial resources with no strings attached, no grant proposal, no outcomes to prove. The return was tied to their humanity, not to a deliverable. What emerged was liberating: to be seen and resourced without having to justify worth is an act of repair for both those receiving and those returning. And, as the reports remind us, return can also surface grief and complexity. We learned to hold the unforeseen consequences, too, and to keep practicing together.

Across these initiatives, the lesson is clear: we are not just repairing systems. We are repairing ourselves. Through relationships, we are actively reaching back through our lineages, healing ancestors, and planting something new for those yet to come.

Lessons for Family Philanthropy

Not every family funder will host a return ceremony or join a reparations cohort, but I believe this work has something to teach us all. Relational reparations is about staying in relationship while practicing repair. That requires funders to shift how they see giving, how they see themselves, and how they see the people they resource. Here are three invitations:

1. Liberation is mutual. The greatest surprise in this work was that everyone involved, those returning resources and those receiving them, was transformed. We often imagine philanthropy as a one-way transaction: a giver and a receiver. Relational reparations disrupts that assumption. When we acknowledge that my liberation is tied to yours, we begin to relate differently to money, to power, and to each other. Mutual liberation is not rhetoric; it is lived in practice.
2. Seeing each other’s humanity is the most powerful strategy we have. Philanthropy often revolves around frameworks, theories of change, and measurable outcomes. But the most transformative shifts I have witnessed came not from logic models, but from the radical act of truly seeing one another. Of witnessing grief. Of honoring joy. Of staying present when it is messy. Humanity is not a “soft” skill. It is the foundation of trust, and trust is the soil in which change takes root. And y’all! We cannot scale humanity. We just can’t. “How much of someone’s humanity did you see today?” See? That doesn’t even sound right.
3. Repair takes time, relationship, and risk. There is no shortcut to this work. Repair is slow, nonlinear, and sometimes painful. It asks funders to sit with discomfort, to let go of control, and to keep returning. And it is also sacred, alive, and deeply hopeful. For family philanthropy, this means designing for duration, not deliverables. It means entering partnerships not simply as funders, but as co-liberators willing to risk something of themselves in the process.

Storytelling as Healing

None of this would have been possible without story.

To capture this work, I partnered with Lis Echohawk Kawe and Ericka Joy Ward of Headwater People. Together, we produced two reports: “Growing Repair: Planting Seeds of Love” and “Weaving Reparative Futures.”

But these are not just reports. They are healing documents. The process of creating them was ceremonial. Every interview was sacred. Every metaphor was chosen with care. Headwater’s practice held the spiritual and ancestral dimensions of this work in ways that no traditional evaluation could. Their presence was not incidental. It was essential.

As a Black woman doing this work, I needed a process that honored not only the outcomes but the souls of the people involved. That kind of storytelling is itself a form of repair. It makes visible the relationships, the risks, the returns, and the resilience of those practicing together. And it ensures that the stories we tell about philanthropy do not flatten or erase but instead create the conditions for healing.

Looking Ahead: A Vision for a Relational Repair Institute

As this fellowship concluded, a new dream began to grow: the creation of a Relational Repair Institute, a space to hold, deepen, and extend this work.

This is not about launching a program. It is about tending to a practice. A place where community wisdom, ancestral connection, and philanthropic courage can meet. A place to unlearn, relearn, and try again together.

I do not yet know what shape it will take, but I know the soil is ready. The stories have been planted. The water is flowing. The practice has begun. And I trust that others will join me in tending to what comes next.

C’Ardiss “CC” Gardner Gleser is a board member of the Andrus Family Fund and the Charlotte Martin Foundation as well as the founder of Black Ivy Collective. CC served as an NCFP Fellow from 2023 through 2024.