Throughout history, there are people whose work leaves a mark — and then there are people like Gladys Krigger Washington, whose presence transformed how the work itself is done. For decades, Gladys led with a rare combination of sharp strategy and deep humanity, reminding all of us that philanthropy isn’t just about money — it’s about trust, relationships, and the courage to center community voices.
As Deputy Director of the Mary Reynolds Babcock Foundation, Gladys guided the foundation’s programmatic work across 11 Southern states, focusing on the intersections of racial equity, economic justice, and grassroots leadership. But her real magic lay in how she approached that work. For Gladys, grantmaking wasn’t about writing checks — it was about listening first, understanding the unique power of local organizations, and walking alongside them for the long haul.
Her commitment to capacity building was ahead of its time. Before it became a common philanthropic language, Gladys understood that if you want real change, you invest in the people doing the work, especially leaders of color who have historically been overlooked or underfunded. She helped shape a generation of grantee partners into stronger, more resilient organizations — not by imposing solutions, but by creating the space to define success on their own terms.
That spirit carried into her work with the Richmond Memorial Health Foundation (RMHF), where she served as a Senior Fellow, helping the foundation deepen its investment in health equity and community-led change. Whether sitting at a board table, visiting with grassroots leaders, or mentoring the next wave of philanthropic changemakers, Gladys embodied a steadfast leadership that left people not only feeling seen — but empowered.
Her story wasn’t just professional; it was deeply personal. A proud graduate of the College of Charleston and the University of South Carolina, Gladys’ Southern roots shaped her approach to philanthropy with a foundation in both history and hope. She knew the challenges communities faced firsthand, and she carried that awareness into every conversation and decision she made.
Since her passing in 2024, tributes have poured in, not just from foundations and institutions, but from organizers, entrepreneurs, and nonprofit founders — the very people whose work she uplifted. One of her close mentees and Nafasi Fund board member, William Buster, described her as a woman who led with grace, wisdom, and unwavering clarity about what justice demands.
Gladys’ legacy challenges all of us in philanthropy — especially those in leadership — to rethink what power looks like. She showed us that power doesn’t sit in boardrooms; it lives in the hands of communities themselves. And if we want to honor her work, we’d do well to remember that.
Q&A with William Buster
What was your first encounter with Gladys like?
Gladys, along with Gayle Williams and Sandra Mikush, interviewed me for my first job in philanthropy with the Mary Reynolds Babcock Foundation in 2000. After an initial exchange during the interview, she didn’t say much. I thought I had blown my chance with her because she didn’t seem very interested in the discussion. Plus, I was asking a lot of questions as I was trying to understand what exactly philanthropy was.
Did you know right away she would become such an important mentor to you?
To my surprise, I was offered the job with the Babcock team. Gladys became my boss, and soon after one of my dearest friends and mentors. During my first one-on-one meeting with Gladys, I told her I didn’t think she liked me because of how quiet she became during the interview and how she kind of scowled. She laughed and told me that after five minutes, she knew she was going to offer me the job. However, she couldn’t appear to be 100% behind my candidacy. At that moment, I knew I was going to be alright.
Gladys had this incredible way of making people feel both challenged and supported. How did she do that?
I thought of myself as an excellent writer by the time I got to Babcock. But Gladys helped me to get better. She helped me understand the difference between writing to convey information and writing to convince the board to support our recommendations. She took a red pen to my work constantly. But she always reminded me that I was there because I was more than qualified to do the work, while also telling me that my writing needed to be sharper.
Can you share a personal story or moment that captures the essence of who Gladys was?
After being at the Babcock Foundation for a few months, I grew frustrated. I didn’t understand how philanthropy worked, how decisions were made to fund one organization over another, or how wealthy white folks could make the best decisions on who to fund when it came to grassroots Black-led organizations. I told Gladys I thought I had made a mistake in joining the organization. She told me to take a deep breath while also acknowledging the contradictions within the field of philanthropy. She asked me not to make any quick decisions about leaving but instead to engage some of my elders and mentors from around the Southeastern U.S. about what I should do — leave or stay.
I spoke with some of my mentors. The consistent message was something like, “Boy! You better keep your butt in there to get that money out to us!” I spoke with Gladys later that week. She asked me what I had heard as if she already knew the answer. I told her what I heard, and she laughed in agreement. She then said, “I know you know you are the walking epitome of what scares most of these folks. You are a big black man who is intelligent and not afraid. There ain’t many of you in this field, and we need you. Now, let’s figure out how we keep you in this game.” She told me that in 2000, and at every turn in my career she was there to provide me with guidance (spiritual and professional) and unending laughter through it all.
What do you think set her leadership style apart from others in philanthropy?
She spoke the sometimes uncomfortable truth to you and also in rooms where the power lies. It was always matter or fact.
How did Gladys help you see philanthropy differently, and how does her influence show up in your leadership today?
Philanthropy is a strange field. Many of us come into it seeking to help those who have often been shut out of opportunities to have access to real resources that would allow them to continue their work because we were led to believe that it was possible. However, many become disillusioned when we are confronted with the contradictions between the narrative of progressive philanthropy and the actual practice of philanthropy.
Gladys never sugarcoated anything. She called BS, BS. But she also believed that it’s easier to leave the field than to assume our responsibility to be true stewards on behalf of those who often have no advocates who look like them or share similar beliefs about the power of community. That approach has deeply influenced me. I always seek to have my work support those closest to the work. But I also ask what they truly need to succeed. Giving grants is easy. Supporting all the things that can make a grant or community successful is the work that Gladys’ influence drives me towards.
In a sector that often struggles with power dynamics, how did Gladys navigate and disrupt those dynamics?
She navigated power dynamics in a couple of ways. She always asked, “Are those most impacted by the condition represented in the work we want to support?” “Are we asking all the right people what they think about our work?”
She also challenged grant partners. She would ask them, “If we went into your neighborhood what would the people say about you? As a matter of fact, can we speak to some of them?”
What advice do you think Gladys would offer to today’s emerging philanthropic leaders and social entrepreneurs?
She would challenge emerging leaders to be their authentic selves and never take themselves too seriously. Laugh as much as you can.