Reclaiming tomorrow: Towards a democratic grammar of philanthropy in Europe

Reflections on the third European Academy of Strategic Philanthropy, 5–7 May 2026, in Annecy, France. Axelle Davezac is CEO of Fondation de France, and Nicolas Duvoux is head of the Geneva Centre of Philanthropy.

This article was originally published on the Alliance magazine blog.

For much of modern history, philanthropy was understood as a response to social inequality. It stepped in where States were absent, constrained, or unwilling to act. It supported groups overlooked by institutions – women, children, minorities, and communities at the margins of public concern. Today, the picture of philanthropy has become more complex. It turns back on the observer – and invites renewed reflection on the ambiguities that have always accompanied the gift. In the end, philanthropy was never simply an act of benevolence, as it always carried influence, reciprocity, and power. Philanthropy has always been political – not in the partisan sense, but because it forms part of the democratic ‘grammar’ through which societies imagine their futures.

Grammar determines not what is said but how it is said. In democratic societies, that grammar is built around legitimacy, accountability, participation, transparency, contestation, and public justification.

So what about philanthropy?

The third edition of the European Academy of Strategic Philanthropy – a gathering of philanthropy leaders, practitioners, and academics held from 5 to 7 May in Annecy, France – took as its theme: ‘Philanthropy in a Fractured World: Repairing Trust, Rebuilding Futures’. We chose this theme because it names the tension we live with every day: as democratic players, we inescapably embody the friction between private will and public interest.

In an age marked by polarisation, disinformation, legal intimidation, and declining confidence in institutions, trust functions as a public good. What Annecy showed us is that philanthropy’s most valuable contribution may not be financial capital alone, but the ability to create spaces where trust, cooperation, and collective learning remain possible.

The discussions reminded us that, beyond, and in parallel of their most basic needs to survive, the people we serve need meaning and a sense of shared destiny, the ties to others that keep them grounded in difficult times. That need to belong is precisely what polarising movements exploit, offering simple answers to the question of where one fits in.

Philanthropy in Europe, we would argue, has been too slow to offer narratives that are both hopeful and actionable in response. That is a failing we must confront directly: how do we adapt our language – locally, regionally, nationally – at a moment of rising authoritarianism, without diluting our purpose? One can change the glossary without changing the recipe. But we are wary of a boundary: reframe too far, and a change in language starts to look like capitulation.

Some of the most instructive voices we heard were from Central and Eastern Europe. Having confronted democratic backsliding, media capture, and civic restrictions for many years, colleagues there have learned that resilience depends less on abstract principles than on relationships, networks, and solidarity. In a polarised society, the scarcest resource is not money but trust, and trust is built, not given. Social capital, we are convinced, is worth more than financial capital. Democracy survives not only through constitutions and elections, but through the everyday infrastructure that allows citizens to act collectively.

We make no claim to repair trust or rebuild futures on our own, as that would be its own kind of overreach. What we can say is that we left Annecy more convinced of what is possible when people commit to doing this work together. Philanthropy is future-oriented by nature: it invests in horizons, not only in relief. But the future cannot be designed solely by those with the resources to fund it. Exclusive power is rarely far from exclusionary power. The horizon has to be negotiated collectively, in society. And that, we believe, is the democratic test beneath the language of ‘strategy’ and ‘systems change’: whether the people whose futures are at stake remain the authors of them.

What emerged in Annecy was less a program than a disposition. The historic East–West distinction is outdated, as the pressures we face are now common, and so must be the responses. If Annecy offered us one shared insight, it is that philanthropy’s legitimacy in the years ahead will depend on a democratic grammar we build together: collaboration as a necessity rather than an ideal, accountability reimagined as collective learning rather than a slogan, foundations willing to change their own practices before asking grantees to change theirs.

We left Annecy with cautious optimism, but optimism on its own is not enough. The task now is to carry that grammar beyond the room: into how we listen, how we fund, and how we let go of some of our own power. That is the work ahead.