This year, I embarked on a unique and thought-provoking experience: to explore and illuminate how the climate crisis intersects with the work of the education philanthropy sector, specifically, the 100+ member foundations of the International Education Funders Group (IEFG), with a view to curating a conversation between climate and education philanthropy during UNGA80 and New York Climate Week, and supporting meaningful collaboration between the two philanthropic sectors. A key project I worked on is the Brains in Gear Podcast Series, focusing on Education Philanthropy and the Climate Crisis.

Through this process, I gained a front-row seat to how the philanthropy sector navigates change, not just in what they say, but in how they think and act. It has been an experience of listening, learning, and occasionally being surprised by what remains unsaid.

 

At first glance, it seemed like a straightforward task; interesting, yes, but manageable. My initial step was to map out where our members currently stand on their climate work. We wanted to understand how many were actively engaging with climate-related issues, how many cared deeply but hadn’t yet taken action, and where the overall awareness level stood.
To my surprise, I discovered that a significant number of our members were either already taking steps on climate or were eager to do so. This was encouraging. It meant that there was a solid foundation of experience, insight, and enthusiasm within our network, people ready to share, support, and lead. It felt like the beginning of a smooth, collaborative path forward.
But, as with most meaningful work, the road ahead proved more complex than it first appeared. What I thought would be a linear path quickly evolved into something far richer and more layered. We began to uncover not just strategic challenges, but deeper, often unspoken barriers, some of which were invisible even to the funders themselves.
I began to notice patterns; barriers that appeared not once or twice, but repeatedly across the education philanthropy sector. They were not isolated missteps, but recurring challenges that many foundations face, often without even realising it. I felt it was important to capture these observations, not to point fingers, but to shine a light on the hidden obstacles that may be quietly holding the sector back from evolving into its full potential.

Initially, it felt natural to reach out to education philanthropy, which was already doing impressive work in climate education. These were the pioneers, the ones who had taken early steps to connect climate and education. In many ways, they represented a source of hope. I believed they could guide the rest of the sector, offering insights and support to those just beginning their climate journeys. But what I found was surprising, and just one of many eye-opening moments along the way.

Many of these leaders in climate education seemed to fall into one of two patterns. The first was a kind of disconnection. Some had grown highly self-sufficient and confident in the strength of their work (which, to be fair, was strong), and as a result, they saw less need to engage more broadly. They put forward just enough promotion to gain recognition, but not enough to share their insights with others in the network fully. There was less urgency or interest in helping fellow funders learn from their journey.

The truth is, no matter how innovative or impactful your work may be, it risks losing momentum when disconnected from the broader ecosystem. Without sharing experiences and seeking opportunities to collaborate, the work can remain siloed. After all, the value of a learning network comes from the willingness of its members to engage, exchange, and support one another on the journey.

This made me reflect: some foundations may need to rethink how they participate in networks; how they share, how they listen, and how they grow. No organisation can lead across every education outcome alone. At some point, you have to pause, reach out to your networks and partners, and learn from others. Without that, even the best work risks losing its relevance and reach.

The second trap was perfectionism. There are many funders who do want to collaborate at the intersection of climate and education. They’re open, generous with their time, and genuinely interested in learning from others. But they hold back, because they’re waiting for the perfect moment to share. They want the perfect examples, the perfect presentation, the perfect message.

This desire for perfection, while understandable, can become a real obstacle. It slows things down, for them and for others who are eager to learn from their work. My message to those organisations: what you’re doing is already valuable. You don’t need a flawless setup to contribute meaningfully. Just show up. Share what you have. Let the conversation grow from there. Real leadership in the work of philanthropy in the face of the climate crisis doesn’t come from having all the answers or perfect materials. It stems from being willing to share, listen, learn from each other, and grow together.

When I turned to the second category of actors, I expected to find fertile ground for collaboration. These were philanthropies with dedicated climate portfolios and corporate philanthropies linked to businesses already leading in climate action. My goal was simple: explore how to strengthen the assumed collaboration within these portfolios, and between business and corporate philanthropy.

I thought I knew what I would find. Surely, there must be at least some degree of coordination; a few shared projects, regular communication, perhaps even joint strategies. However, this experience had its surprises once again. There was a clear lack of collaboration.

Most of the cases had no coordination at all. No collaboration. No knowledge exchange. In some cases, they didn’t even know the names of their counterparts in other portfolios.

At first, I saw this as a solvable challenge. I could simply point out the gap: “Hey, you need to start collaborating to maximise your impact and create co-benefits.” How hard could that be?

What I hadn’t realised was that proposing a cross-portfolio or business-philanthropy collaboration can sound the alarm for change, and the first reaction to change is often denial. And that’s precisely what happened.

Some dismissed the idea outright without giving it a moment’s thought. Others refused even to join a discussion about why collaboration wasn’t happening and how it might work in the future. It wasn’t just disinterest; there was genuine discomfort. The unspoken sentiment was clear: “We work in isolation. We focus on our expertise. We stay in our comfort zone.”

Of course, the refusals came with a long list of justifications: rigid KPIs, board-approved plans that couldn’t be altered, competing priorities. But amid this wall of resistance, there were glimmers of hope.

A few, though hesitant to speak publicly, signalled openness to at least discussing the idea internally. Whether those conversations will lead to action remains to be seen, but even the seed of an idea is a start.

And then there were the rare voices of courage, willing to engage in public dialogue about the barriers to cross-portfolio collaboration. I must give special credit to all the foundations that took time and effort to join the podcast and the roundtable. While some of them are not yet actively collaborating across education and climate portfolios, they openly welcomed a conversation about the challenges and the potential future of such work.

These brave voices are few, but they matter. They remind us that change in the philanthropy sector starts with those willing to speak up about the real challenges and barriers.

When I first set out on this work, my aim was not just to gather the leading voices in climate and education philanthropy under one roof. That would have been the easier, more predictable route, focusing only on those already in the spotlight, those whose climate-education portfolios were mature, measurable, and celebrated.

Instead, I wanted something bigger. I wanted to bring together everyone from the climate and education space, from established leaders to first-time explorers, from those with ambitious climate-education strategies to those holding only a faint outline of an idea, from those already deep in the work to those who hadn’t yet considered climate at all.

Our belief was simple: every stage of the journey matters.

In fact, those with firsthand experience, however small their steps were, in our eyes, are just as vital as the sector’s most established champions. Think about it: in the complex, overwhelming landscape of climate action, the act of beginning is no small feat. These early movers had already crossed the hardest threshold: moving from inaction to action. They had wrestled with uncertainty, identified starting points, and begun shaping solutions. And in doing so, they were perfectly positioned to help others who were still frozen at the starting line.

They could share real-world entry points, showing that climate integration doesn’t need to be overwhelming or inaccessible. They could offer reassurance that you don’t need to have the perfect plan to start making an impact.

At least, that was the hope.

But as I engaged with more organisations, I noticed something that gave me pause. Many of these firsthand pioneers were reluctant to share their early steps.

Again and again, I heard the same refrain: “We’ll share once our projects are more developed. “Maybe in a year or two.” “It’s not ready yet.”

This wasn’t about unwillingness to collaborate; many were happy to share other, more polished initiatives where they had achieved major milestones. However, when it came to their climate education beginnings, they kept those stories in the dark. Perfectionism had found a new disguise.

The underlying message seemed to be: “Small steps don’t count.” But in reality, those early steps are often the most valuable. Recognising the importance of climate in education, deciding to act, making a plan, and starting to implement it all represent progress that should be celebrated. In a sector where many are still in the “freeze phase,” waiting for the perfect moment can mean waiting forever.

And here’s the irony: sharing these early stories benefits not only others but also the storytellers themselves. By articulating their experience, they gain new insights, discover synergies, and open doors to partnerships they might never have considered. It’s a two-way exchange; inspiration flows out, and new ideas flow in.

Unfortunately, this “step forward”, the act of openly acknowledging and leveraging firsthand experience, was missing in much of the education philanthropy space. Few recognised its importance. Even fewer embraced it.

Some education funders were brave enough to share their firsthand experience in the podcast. They didn’t hide their climate-education beginnings behind closed doors. Instead, they leaned in, eager to share their early experiences with the sector. They welcomed a dialogue with those leading major climate-education efforts and those just starting out. They explored how to build on their progress, scale their initiatives, and identify what works and what doesn’t.

In my discussions with IEFG members, one question surfaced repeatedly: Where do we even start?

When answered with lived experience, not theory or distant case studies, but fresh, imperfect, and real stories, the effect will be striking. The overwhelming complexity of climate work will begin to dissolve. Entry points will become tangible. Pathways will become visible.

It is, quite simply, the magic of firsthand experience.

And yet, too often, that magic was hidden, locked away until some undefined point when the story would be “ready.” But again, if there’s one truth we’ve learned, it’s this: climate action cannot wait for perfect. The courage to take a first step, to speak about it openly, and to invite others to the conversation is itself a form of leadership.

If more in the education philanthropy sector embraced that truth, we could transform not just how we start, but how far we go, together.

Like I mentioned, when I began shaping this work, one conviction was clear: for philanthropy to meaningfully advance climate and education, all education funders must be part of the conversation, not only those already integrating climate, but also those still searching for where to begin.

While recording our podcast, I quickly realised the process was doing more than producing a constructive discussion. It was building bridges. As I got everybody into the virtual recording booth at the same time, the recording sessions created rare opportunities for foundations to learn directly from one another’s work, ask candid questions, and explore possibilities for collaboration. That is why I intentionally sought to include funders who had not yet stepped into climate education, not as passive listeners, but as hosts. I believed this would empower them to ask the very questions many of their peers were quietly holding, while giving them a chance to learn openly from those already leading in the field.

Yet here I faced resistance. Almost every foundation I invited declined, not because they lacked interest, but because they feared how it might look. They were comfortable speaking as experts on familiar ground, but not hosting as learners in a new one. Individuals within these organisations expressed genuine enthusiasm; some were eager to participate, listen, and grow. But once the idea was brought back to their organisations, it was turned down. To appear publicly as a learner was seen as a weakness, something to be avoided.

But is that not the greatest irony? None of us is born a pioneer. No one becomes a pioneer in any field without first learning from others. And even those who lead still have more to learn. By clinging to an image of certainty, we risk stalling the very evolution philanthropy needs.

When this work began, the idea of bringing climate and education funders together in one conversation was seen by many as unrealistic, even radical. Yet, it was also widely recognised as something that needed to happen,  a collaboration that everyone agreed made sense in principle, even if many anticipated it would be difficult to achieve. That’s what made the actual challenge so striking: on paper, it seemed like an obvious and important idea, but in practice, it proved far more complex to realise. Why mix two worlds that had long operated in silos? Yet, the moment a few courageous voices agreed to step forward, share their firsthand experiences, and even accepted to host conversations in fields they were still learning about, something powerful happened: the narrative began to shift.

For example, what started as a podcast episode about collaboration between education and climate funders—a space for open dialogue and curiosity—has grown into a global movement. This past month in New York, together with Foundations 20, IEFG brought together climate and education funders from around the world for a closed roundtable to explore collaboration, chart pathways for joint action, and commit to a shared plan of action. What was once dismissed as “impractical” is now becoming mainstream.

The lesson is clear: true change often begins with the ideas we hesitate to embrace, the ones that feel unfamiliar, uncomfortable, or outside of our usual KPIs. But these are precisely the ideas that can redefine philanthropy’s role and impact. Therefore, I invite you, as a funder, not to remain an observer. Reach out to IEFG. Ask how you can collaborate. Explore the opportunities that exist. By rewriting the narrative together, education philanthropy can become not only more potent but also truly transformative.