By: Sulma Gandhi

For me, that means pilina. Relationship. The kind that’s not transactional or measured in deliverables, but felt instead; over time, on the land, in quiet conversations, in laughter, and sometimes in loss.

Yes, I manage a portfolio of grants totaling over $40M. But truthfully 90% of what I do isn’t traditional grantmaking, it’s building trust. It’s walking with our partners as they carry the weight of community care. It’s navigating the uncomfortable intersections of urgency and exhaustion, of ambition and grief. Philanthropy must meet people where they are. And sometimes, where they are is on the edge of burnout, still choosing to show up with love.

Community partners have shared that our approach feels different. That in a sea of extractive practices, our work is one of solidarity. It reminds me that shared power is not just a value, it’s a practice. A daily, imperfect, heart-centered practice. Our collective aloha is a form of social order. 

This kind of relationship is especially meaningful in a sector where toxic dynamics—funder-centric compliance and lengthy processes in the name of “accountability”—can quietly take root. Pilina is the antidote. It slows us down, returns us to integrity, and invites us to imagine partnerships that are rooted in dignity, not deference. I’ve written more about the promise of this.

As the Stupski Foundation prepares to close its doors, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for being part of this courageous and intentional spend down. Many organizations across Hawaiʻi have been part of this journey, carrying their vision forward long after the last grant is made. To be part of this legacy is both humbling and galvanizing. It reaffirms what I’ve always known: that change is most enduring when it is rooted in community, not institutions.

In systems work, urgency often defaults to speed. But in community, urgency is measured by depth and relevance. I live and lead where institutional timelines and metric-based impact confront lived realities.

I hope we carry these values into every space we enter together, from philanthropic strategy rooms to conversations about health equity, economic resilience, and community well-being. I’ve seen firsthand that transformative change only takes root when trust and urgency are held together, across a broad ecosystem of stakeholders: government and nonprofit, patients and practitioners, elders and youth, funders and families. No one sector can do it alone.

That’s the future I’m working toward—where organizations in Hawaiʻi lean into shared power with consciousness and courage. Where philanthropy isn’t just about what we fund, but how we walk with those closest to the solutions.

I invite you to watch the Break Fake Rules episode and ask yourself:

• What rules no longer serve the people we say we care about?
• What would it look like to break them with integrity and care?

We don’t have time to do this the old way. And honestly, we never did. Because Change Can’t Wait.