A Rose By Any Other Name...

Last year, I attended a social event that was organized through a social networking site that was also attended by a prospect research colleague at another institution. We both worked in one-person shops. The networking site asked participants to identify their "profession." I noticed that while I had identified myself as a "fundraiser," my colleague had identified herself as a "researcher." I found this thought-provoking.

Today I started reading the brand spanking new edition of Cecilia Hogan's Prospect Research: A Primer for Growing Nonprofits. Did I mention it's brand spanking new? I'm eagerly looking forward to reading Cecilia's new chapter on estimating wealth and determining philanthropic capacity, an art form at its best and a source of self-doubt and constant frustration at its worst. (My own efforts fall somewhere in the middle of that continuum). But before we get there, I want to mention a short but important discussion in the preface titled "Strike a Blow for Language Difficulties."

I happen to be someone who thinks that language matters. My favorite comedian, George Carlin, in discussing the use of nonsexist language, said "We do think in language; and so the quality of our thoughts and ideas can only be as good as the quality of our language."

Like Cecilia, I've never been comfortable with the term "suspect" when applied to a pre-qualified prospect, unless we are fundraising on an episode of CSI. And "moves management" is what I'm going to be doing at the Webster Hall dance party on Friday night.

But what we label ourselves is even more important, because it defines our field. You've probably figured out that I like the term "prospect research," since I used it in the title of this blog. The downside to calling oneself a "prospect researcher" at a cocktail party is that you will probably have to spend ten minutes or so explaining what it is you do. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. It's good PR for the field, but can be a burden if you are more in the mood to tell elephant jokes.

Within the development office, and perhaps throughout the organization as a whole, I assert that everyone involved in raising funds is a fundraiser, though our specialized roles are reflected in our job titles: prospect researcher, major gift officer, grantwriter, gift processor. Outside the office, I've started using the inelegant term "fundraising researcher," which at least clues my audience in to what I do, without having to abandon my inner researcher. [If I abandon my inner researcher, she gets back at me by blowing my monthly budget on reference books from Amazon.com].

Ultimately, in today's complex, information-centric world, few job titles accurately reflect the scope of activities involved in any professional position. But when it comes to what we call ourselves, what's in a name is worth discussing.