Beware of the “Rayguns” breaking things in the nonprofit sector
The memes, reenactment reels, and jokes are coming in with Lylesian speed after Rachael “Raygun” Gunn’s breaking routine for Team Australia during the 2024 Paris Olympics. Her B-girl performance —which received 0 points over three rounds— is being skewered and barbecued online for being clunky, comedic, and a terrible representation of breaking during its debut as an Olympic event. The onslaught of criticism has caused some to come to Raygun’s defense and for Rachel Gunn — a college professor who studies breaking culture — to respond that her thud of a performance was originality, creativity, and artistry that simply did not speak to the judges.
However, as innocuous and humorous as Raygun’s showing in Paris might appear, it mirrors a painful pattern pervasive in the nonprofit sector. If left unchecked, it stealthily disrupts progress and trivializes matters of profound importance to marginalized communities.
As a founder of several social impact organizations and initiatives, I have watched Raygun types cause harm with impunity for nearly two decades. Here are a few of the ways this happens in the nonprofit sector.
Rayguns take up space
The stakes were high for breaking as a new Olympic sport during the Paris Games. While some feared that the art form that began as a pillar of hip hop on the streets of the Bronx in the 1970s would be coopted and diluted, others felt excitement about the opportunity the Olympic imprimatur presented. It would be yet another milestone in the global reach of hip hop culture. It would also bring the additional resources, attention, and respect that breaking deserves. If breaking was successful in Paris, it would open the door for B-girls and B-boys to compete for medals in future Olympic games.
But Raygun’s notably subpar performance took up space and cast a shadow over so much of the excellence that was on display. As a result, fewer people are learning about other participants, such as Japan’s Ami (Gold medal), Lithuania’s Nicka (Silver), Canada’s ‘Wizard’ Kim (Gold medal), France’s Dany Dann (Silver), and Manizha Talash, who was disqualified after displaying a “Free Afghan Women” cape during her pre-qualifier battle. The overshadowing has led some to mistakenly assume Raygun’s performance was indicative of the overall competition quality.
Likewise, the fact that Raygun was selected to represent Australia during the Olympics has led many to wonder whether she represents the best that her country offers. However, Australian nonprofit leader Neha Madhok suggested otherwise in a recent post:
“There are incredible dancers in places like Western Sydney (just one example) where black and brown people are honing their skills and their craft in arenas not recognized by establishment institutions. This is a reflection on the whiteness of Australian sport, and of Australian attitudes. We could have sent incredible people, the talent is absolutely there, but you have to go to where people are.
Yet, unlike many of the most marginalized dancers, Raygun had the privileged knowledge, networks, and resources to access the qualifying tournament, where she bested 14 other B-girls to earn a spot on the Olympic team.
In the nonprofit sector, you will also find Raygun types hoarding opportunities, funding, and attention rather than amplifying underrepresented leaders. They routinely use people of color to gain insights, perspective, and credibility that advances their careers. They vocalize the right things about the need for equity, but their actions reinforce exclusion. Their comfort is centered in the workplace, and their book knowledge is prioritized over lived experiences in conversations about community uplift.
Rayguns “play in our face”
The Rayguns in the nonprofit sector are brazen about experimenting and improvising with other people’s lives and resources. I have watched these types secure funding for work they do not know how to deliver, only to later approach grassroots leaders to salvage their projects (and public persona). I have had to endure meetings facilitated by Rayguns who used trendy consultant speak, 2×2 matrices, and awkward hand gestures, hoping we could not recognize the emperor with no clothes. The Rayguns in our midst lack self-awareness and feel no qualms about using the most disenfranchised and plundered communities as their training ground. When the moves they make and the initiatives they start fail, they rarely are held accountable for the mess they left behind.
In defense of Raygun’s performance, Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese commended Rachel as operating “in the Australian tradition of people having a go.” But imagine if Raygun — traditionally trained as a ballroom dancer — started kangaroo hopping during a waltz routine. Or imagine the travesty if someone from Team Australia’s swim team started doggy paddling during a race requiring breaststroke.
Because our culture is inviting, expansive, and free-flowing, it does not mean it lacks standards, excellence, and seriousness. Our communities and culture are not a joke, a playground, or a platform for padding resumes with exotic experiences.
Rayguns are given innocence and grace
During the closing ceremony, Raygun’s teammates cheered and carried her on their shoulders as if she was awarded the Olympics’ first mediocrity medal. She has since been called courageous, original, and a victim of unfair and misogynistic critiques.
In contrast, after winning two medals and then pulling out of the Tokyo Olympic games due to experiencing the “twisties,” Simone Biles — regarded as the greatest gymnast of all time — was called weak, selfish, and a shame to her country. Decorated gymnast Jordan Chiles recently removed herself from social media after her bronze medal was stripped from her due to a judging error and a technicality. Then, she received an onslaught of racist comments. And there was no grace or innocence granted to gold medalist Sha’Carri Richardson during her time of grief and need.
In our own backyard, Rayguns in the nonprofit sector are given space to make mistakes and fail upward. They are trusted with multi-year funding to support the grandiose ideas in their pristine pitch decks. Their expenditures, decisions, and actions receive far less scrutiny. And they are fiercely protected and supported.
A 2024 report on nonprofit leadership found that BIPOC leaders reported much less support from their board when transitioning into a new role and were less likely to feel their board trusted their leadership. One leader of color interviewed for the study remarked:
“It feels like we are asking more things out of a workplace than we ever have before at precisely the moment in time people and women of color are being called to lead. The bar was never this high for my predecessors.”
For some of us, the bar is incredibly high, while others are allowed to flail and flop their way to the top.
The double standard is not funny. It is heartbreaking.
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Atnre Alleyne is the co-founder and CEO of TeenSHARP, an organization that prepares students of color for top colleges and leadership. He is also the founder of The Proximity Project, a diversity and inclusion firm that helps organizations build deeper and more authentic connections with marginalized communities.
