Protecting the environment has grown into a big bucks business in Montana

HELENA – When Jim Jensen was hired in 1985 as director of the Montana
Environmental Information Center, he was the sole full-time employee, making $16,000
a year to take over an organization with big plans and an equivalent operating deficit.

By EVE BYRON
Helena Independent Record

Seventeen years later, MEIC still works out of the same spare second-story offices in
what some might call a historic building – others might call it well-worn – two blocks off of
Last Chance Gulch in downtown Helena. The MEIC mission remains the same as it was when it was founded
in 1973, which is to protect and restore Montana’s environment. But Jensen’s salary has doubled, and MEIC
has evolved into a $400,000 nonprofit charity, with eight full-time workers and four part-timers, including one
person in Missoula, one in Bozeman and one in Butte.
The growth of MEIC represents a snapshot of the explosion of environmental activism in Montana. While
protection of the environment is by no means the largest type of public non-profit activity, with 62 environmental
organizations generating $16 million in revenue just in 1999 alone, these groups certainly have played a
significant role in shaping Montana.
If you ask the heads of some of these organizations about their impacts, they concede to having an
influence, but often downplay their new stature and professionalism.

"We’re just old-fashioned community organizers, and if we can help people we do," Jensen said, smiling
slightly as he leans back and folds his hands behind his head.

Danger dogs success

While environmental groups tout their "grass roots," the evolution from volunteer-based activists to paid
professionals is a transition that worries some. In particular, there is concern – even from within their ranks –
that as environmental groups grow into solid businesses, they become distanced from their members and put
too much emphasis on the perpetuation of their organizations.
What most people consider as today’s environmental movement took root in the 1960s, with the publication
of Rachel Carson’s book "Silent Spring." During the next decade, environmental groups mainly were shoestring
operations, surviving on the enthusiasm of volunteers and staff working long hours for low pay. Their efforts
paid off, and by the 1980s, these groups had evolved into one of the nation ‘s "most potent political forces,"
according to Randal O’Toole, an economist with The Thoreau Institute, an environmental think-tank.
However, they almost did their job too well.
By the 1990s, memberships nationwide were dropping off between 15 and 35 percent as people perceived
that the threat of environmental disaster was dissipating, according to O’Toole.
"As memberships declined, groups of all sizes also became more dependent on foundation fund-raising,"
O’Toole wrote in a 1995 report. "While those foundation leaders have only the best of intentions, this situation
meant that environmentalists were increasingly out of touch with their memberships and with the American
people in general."
In addition, the environmental groups were dividing into factions, O’Toole said in a recent interview from his
office in Oregon. On one side were conservationists, who pushed for some type of management for public
lands, including allowing limited timber sales and grazing. On the other side were preservationists, who
advocated a hands-off, nature-knows-best, no logging philosophy. The infighting from these diverging opinions
offended some members, he said, causing them to drop out and sometimes form new groups.
"They became professionalized because the volunteers were driven away," O’Toole said. "They weren’t
doing what the people wanted, so the people no longer were willing to put in the time."
As environmental groups started turning toward foundations to replace members’ dues and donations, it
transformed the movement, in O’Toole’s opinion. He believes that when environmental organizations don’t have
to rely on their members for donations, they become out of touch with what their people want.
"They can take a position their former grassroots base no longer supports, and still get the foundation
money," O’Toole said. "If your chain is being jerked by foundation directors that want you to do certain things for
them, then you end up doing not what you state you want to be doing, but what they want."

The funding debate

O’Toole knows that not everyone agrees with his sentiments. In fact, after having worked almost exclusively
for environmental groups from 1974 to 1990, O’Toole’s beliefs now run contrary to those of many within the
movement.
Jensen disputes O’Toole’s concerns about relying on foundation money instead of funding from members.
MEIC’s income is roughly 50 percent from individual donations and 50 percent from foundations or other
organizations, and the group did see a decline in membership at one point. But Jensen notes that the
organization has doubled its numbers in the past six years and MEIC staff’s activities are closely scrutinized by
its board of directors.
"We exist because of our members," Jensen said. "If it isn’t for them we wouldn’t exist. If we don’t do what
our members think we should do, then they will not renew their membership. We are grass roots organizations,
are driven by donations and opinions of individuals. Everything we do we are held accountable for by our
members and we are happy to do it."
Others echo Jensen’s comments. Bob Decker of the Montana Wilderness Association adds that the
"extremely active" 19-member MWA board of directors, who represent various MWA chapters, is evidence of how
the staff’s actions are governed by members, even though only about 13 percent of MWA’s funding comes from
dues.
Wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt, Decker is a tall, broad-shouldered man with raptor-like features. He
scowls at the insinuation that foundation money is somehow tainted, angrily acknowledging only a sliver of truth
to comments like O’Toole ‘s.
"I don’t know what transactions involving money occur without some expectations, and our job is to match
those expectations," Decker said. "If a foundation exists to protect the environment and they perceive that we
protect the environment and want to invest in our work, then they have an expectation we will continue that work.
We file reports and tell people what we do with their money, because they want to know. Do we alter our
philosophy or chose political strategies to get their money? No. But expectations are there. They expect good
work and honest work and results."
To Teresa Erickson with the Northern Plains Resource Council, while it may be desirable for groups to not
rely on foundation money, that’s not always possible when living in rural areas that aren’t particularly affluent.
Members fund about 20 percent of NPRC’s annual income, while about 70 percent comes from large
contributions or grants.
She gives another reason that NPRC tries to avoid dependence upon foundation money.
"Foundations have trends," Erickson says bluntly. She believes they can’t be counted on for annual funding
because what is a popular program one year can fall out of favor the next. In addition, some foundations have
been known to try to exert pressure on organizations to alter their objectives to qualify for grants.
"We have been very aware of that, and our board would not allow us to change our mission to get funding,"
Erickson said. "For example, we used to be able to raise a lot more money for struggling farmers than what is
available now. But we are mission driven, not fund driven. So we keep trying to help farmers even though there’s
pretty much only one foundation that’s giving money for that now."
Erickson recalls what she believes was a not-so-subtle attempt by a waste management firm to influence
NPRC by offering them a large grant. The money was declined because the group’s board was leery that
strings were attached.
"We thought it was hypocritical and could cause some problems down the road," she said. "The issue of
which foundations to approach is often discussed here. Most fund us on our merits, and know we will not tailor
our work in order to meet their goals. But I can see where some groups might be tempted to do that if they’re
struggling for money.
"I think with philanthropy and money, you have to have a constant ethical discussion with yourself about
where you go to get your money, how you get your money and what you generally will do for that money."
Craig Sharpe, executive director of the Montana Wildlife Federation, said there also is a danger of focusing
too much attention on growing memberships and grants, instead of protecting the environment. In years past,
at least half of the MWF’s average half-million dollar annual budget came from large foundations.
"There is a danger that if you become too business oriented – I think there is a danger that you no longer
represent the general public or the citizens’ point of view," said Sharpe, an amicable man who looks almost like
a college professor as he peers over the top of his glasses. "If you are always concerned about money in the
bank or the number of members you have, you might not fully represent the public."

Raising big bucks

Regardless of where its money comes from, the environmental movement has grown into a titan in
Montana in the past 30 years.
The most recent information posted by the National Center for Charitable Statistics is for 1999. The center
reports that nationwide, contributions to environmental organizations skyrocketed in the past 10 years, from
$1.8 billion in 1992 to $3.5 billion in 1999.
The trickle-down effect to Montana is readily apparent. When the Montana Wildlife Federation formally
organized in 1936, there were few other groups dedicated to wildlife, land and water issues. As late as 1972,
the MWF was Montana’s only conservation oriented non-profit to have a paid staff person.
But by 1992, Montana had become home to 25 environmental groups, operating with $5.5 million in
revenues.
And just seven years later, the number of formal organizations had more than doubled to 62, and the
revenues taken in had almost tripled to $16 million.
The majority of environmental charities are headquartered in the college towns of Missoula and Bozeman,
but it’s the organizations in Lewis and Clark County that generate the most revenue – $4.5 million in 1999 for
only eight charities.
In Missoula County, 16 environmental-based groups had revenues of $3.6 million in 1999. In Gallatin
County, 13 groups posted revenues of $2.9 million; four groups raised $300,000 in revenues in Flathead
County and three groups raised $100,000 in Cascade County.
With the NCCS listing 1,347 public charities in Montana that year reporting revenues of more than $2
billion, the environmental groups’ share is only a few needles on the money tree. The health industry cornered
65 percent of the nonprofit market in Montana with $1.35 billion in revenues; educational institutions took 8
percent of the pie with $171 million in revenues; and human services netted 7 percent of the available funding
with $143 million in revenues.
In that context, the environmental groups’ $16 million in revenue is but a miniscule portion of the total
nonprofit funds generated here in 1999. And even though many now have a half-million dollar budget and
around a dozen employees, Montana ‘s individual environmental groups are comparatively small no-frills
operations that face off against large state or federal agencies with thousands of people, or huge corporations
like Exxon with millions of dollars and scores of lawyers.
Still, few will argue that the business of protecting the environment hasn’t had a considerable impact on
Montana’s landscape. When these groups’ diverse areas of interest overlap and they combine their skills and
knowledge – not just of their staff but of their thousands of members – they become a formidable giant reaching
into every corner of the Treasure State.
For example, during the recent dispute over logging in the Bitterroot National Forest, a coalition of
environmental groups put the brakes on a proposed 44,000-acre timber sale, cutting the amount of harvest to
only one-third of what the Forest Service had wanted. Environmental organizations also were instrumental in
getting voters to pass a statewide ban on cyanide heap-leach mines. In addition, they’ve purchased and
protected thousands of acres of critical wildlife habitat.
Individually, they specialize in various areas and issues. Some, like the Montana Wilderness Association,
focus on activities proposed for roadless lands or possible wilderness areas; others like the MEIC ride herd
mainly on public health and state activities. Some organizations, like the Ecology Center, are opposed to all
logging on public lands; others, like American Wildlands, are willing to negotiate to allow some timber sales.
Some groups pay attention mainly to remote wild lands, while others are concerned about urban sprawl on the
edges of cities. Some, like the Montana Wildlife Federation, have thousands of members. Others, like the
Native Ecosystems Council, have a board of directors, but no members.
Environmental groups produce studies on the number of houses built in flood plains and their impacts.
They assess the effects of helicopter skiing on wildlife. They use satellites to create maps for local groups
seeking conservation easements. They lobby legislators. They pass petitions.
When those tactics don’t produce the results they seek, the groups sometimes turn to the courtroom.
"It’s like Martin Luther King Jr. said – agitate, legislate and litigate," says Jensen, who is well known for
enjoying a good fight. "We (MEIC) are a watchdog of state government, trying to consistently make sure the state
does what’s it’s required by law to do."
He pauses, and smiles again with the charm of a true believer in his cause.
"And when they don’t do that, we sue."

From volunteers to pros

Individually, a flood of funding has significantly boosted the bottom line of some of Montana’s
environmental groups. For example, the Alliance for the Wild Rockies in Missoula had revenues of $274,360 in
1998. Only two years later, it reported revenues of $411,700 – about a 52 percent increase. The Helena-based
Montana Wilderness Association had revenues of $429,650 in 1998, but those jumped to $714,300 by 2000.
American Wildlands in Bozeman had revenues of $294,900 in 1998, which increased to $511,950 in 2000.
As the environmental organizations grew, they needed bookkeepers to handle this money. They needed
specialists to be able to argue the finer points of mining, logging, sprawl impacts. They needed office
managers to keep everything coordinated. And they needed fundraisers to generate more money to guarantee
their continued existence.
From hiring its first paid staffer in 1972, the MWF now reports revenues of almost $400,000 in 2000, with
about $221,000 devoted to funding salaries and benefits for its six employees.
The Federation has a conservation director to deal with issues on a statewide basis. A director of field
operations coordinates activities of the 24 affiliated clubs. A development director raises money to fund these
activities. A comptroller keeps track of the money. An office manager answers the telephone and enters data
into the computer. Then there’s Sharpe, a former self-employed businessman who earns $33,800 annually to
ensure this all runs smoothly.
American Wildlands in Bozeman has a slightly larger staff with similar duties, plus two people whose main
job consists of creating maps using satellites. Director Rob Ament notes that when the organization started in
1977, it mainly consisted of non-paid environmentalists who wanted to use science to protect the landscapes
and waters of the Rocky Mountain Northern Region. To this day, most of their 10 employees have some type of
volunteer experience before being hired at salaries in the $20,000 to $30,000 range, and the organization
depends heavily on young activists ready to change the world armed only with science and youthful energy.
But Ament said American Wildlands has learned that relying only on the dedication of volunteers creates a
constant turnover in personnel.
"Before, we would eat people up, throw them out and discard them," mused Ament, who noted that
American Wildlands only began offering benefits to employees three years ago. He’s a former volunteer who
holds a master’s degree in biology and worked for the United States Forest Service and Bureau of Land
Management before joining American Wildlands in 1994. He was paid $41,000 for his work in 2000.

Pursing people

Unlike pay matrixes, membership gains haven’t always been on a steady climb. Many groups say they saw
a drop in members at some point, and mounted concerted drives to revitalize public interest in their efforts.
The MWF turned to a telemarketing firm, and now boasts about 8,000 members, with half of those from out
of state. According to their tax forms, the groups spent at least $250,000 in various membership services in
three years, from community outreach programs to surveys. During that same time period, the group was
spending about 62 percent of its revenues on programs and 20 percent on fund-raising.
While giving a nod to the telemarketing effort, Sharpe theorizes that the recent proliferation of environmental
and conservation activism also is a reflection of the interests of the aging Baby Boomer generation.
"The average members involved in hard-line conservation groups are between 45 and 55 years old – right
in the pocket of the Baby Boomers," said Sharpe, who easily fits into this category. "A lot of this is a carryover
from people’s involvement in the ’60s. They went quiet for a while and now are going through a rejuvenation."
Teresa Erickson with NPRC adds that the drop in membership that some groups experienced may have
been due to the proliferation of environmental organizations.
"The competition is very stiff," she said. "It’s all about relationships, and there’s a hundred others out there
who want your attention. So maybe each group experienced less membership for the organization, but if you
view it collectively, it adds up to more people getting involved in Montana."
Reporter Eve Byron can be reached at 447-4076 or by e-mail at [email protected]

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