Unicef Has a Growing Circle of Ultra-Wealthy Individuals on Tap
4 min
During the Covid pandemic in 2021, Silicon Valley venture capitalist John O’Farrell organised a call with several tech CEOs to urge them to back Unicef’s efforts to distribute vaccines globally as he and his wife, Gloria Principe, were doing.
Stewart Butterfield , co-founder and—at the time—the CEO of Slack, and his wife, Jen Rubio , co-founder and CEO of Away, “gave US$25 million on the spot,” and challenged other tech CEOs to give, too, says Kristen Jones, Unicef’s fundraising manager, global philanthropy.
O’Farrell is on the national board of the organisation and a member of the Unicef International Council, a network of 150 wealthy individuals from 22 countries.
“We were trying to mobilise resources really quickly,” Jones says. In this instance, an International Council member showed how the “influence and trust” of individuals and their network can be extended to Unicef and its mission.
Courtesy of Unicef
Unicef, officially the United Nations Children’s Fund, is a U.N. agency focused on humanitarian and developmental aid to children. It relies on funding from governments and intergovernmental agencies. But it also depends on the private sector, from US$1 gifts provided by individuals across the world to giving by corporations, foundations, and wealthy donors.
Total giving to Unicef from the private sector totalled US$2.07 billion last year, representing 23% of total revenue, according to its annual report. Of that total, US$829 million was unrestricted—money that is particularly valuable because it’s flexible.
“That funding is critical for us to be able to cover underfunded operations, emergencies or situations of armed conflict that are not in the headlines anymore,” says Carla Haddad Mardini, director of Unicef’s division of private fundraising and partnerships.
The International Council was formed in 2017 not only to boost private-sector donations, but to create a powerful group of individuals who could bring their knowledge, expertise, vision, and networks to the organisation, Haddad Mardini says.
“We don’t see them as donors, we see them as partners,” she says.
That’s because the council’s engagement with Unicef goes behind giving. “They support by opening their networks to us, thinking with us about the global problems that make children more vulnerable,” Haddad Mardini says. “It’s invaluable in terms of the advocacy that they do and the influence that they exert.”
The council, of course, also provides needed funding. Since it was formed, members—who give US$1 million when they join—have donated more than US$552 million.
This past year, the council brought on 15 new members, half from countries in the Southern Hemisphere, including India, Vietnam, Indonesia, and Mexico. The incoming chair is Muhammed Aziz Khan, founder and chairman of the Summit Group, a Bangladesh industrial conglomerate, whose foundation is focused on the education of vulnerable children in the country.
“We want this group to be as diverse as possible,” Haddad Mardini says. “They’re not there for their own visibility, they are there to really meaningfully and purposefully make a difference.”
Bernard Taylor, an arbitrator and mediator at Judicial Arbitration and Mediation ADR Services and a retired partner with Alston & Bird, an Atlanta-based international law firm, has been an active supporter of Unicef for years, joining its Southeast Regional Board in the U.S. in 2007. In 2018, he joined the council and this past summer, became chair of the organisation’s National Board.
One of Taylor’s earliest experiences with Unicef was a trip to Madagascar not long after the island in the southwest Indian Ocean off the coast of Africa had been hit by successive cyclones.
“It was really eye-opening from the standpoint of seeing the despair that so many people were living through and that the children were living through,” Taylor says. After returning home and taking his children on a trip to the local mall to buy supplies for a school project, he was overwhelmed by the abundance that surrounded them.
“Just a short plane ride away, people were living in despair and death—we had to do something about that, and what I saw was that Unicef was doing something about it,” he says. “That’s how I got involved and committed.”
Often, the council responds to emergencies such as the urgent need for global vaccine distribution during the pandemic. In 2022, the council raised US$3.2 million to support Unicef’s work in Afghanistan, and another US$5.5 million in response to the war in Ukraine.
But as Haddad Mardini says, the council also goes beyond check-writing.
“We are all focused on pulling together our resources, our expertise,
our networks,” Taylor says. “As a private philanthropy, we’re able to be nimble, to be fast and flexible in ways that can address the issues that Unicef is struggling with. As a council member, I’m able to utilise my influence with peers and business leaders and even governmental entities.”
Recently, he spoke with one of Georgia’s U.S. senators to inform him about Unicef’s activities and to get his support. “Maybe you would call us extenders of influence—we increase, substantially, the influence and the ability of Unicef to do its work.”
The experience of Taylor, O’Farrell and others as private sector executives can also be influential to the thinking of Unicef’s executives, Jones says.
“They’re bringing their private sector experience and what they’re seeing in their partnerships,” she says. “It’s a space where they feel comfortable being very open and candid. It’s a nice dialogue with leadership.”
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Randy Boyagoda’s new novel, “Lords of Serendipity,” delivers a biting satire of cheating, politics and dysfunction across modern universities.
5 min
Administrative cowardice. Rampant cheating. The soaking and scamming of undergrads and grad students. Performative wokeism. Intensifying competition for international tuition dollars from an expansive China.
These are either the latest dire headlines about American higher ed or the myriad subplots of “Lords of Serendipity,” an ambitious new novel by Randy Boyagoda. Unlike most campus fiction, its scope extends well beyond the cloister of the liberal arts classroom to whammy the entire university system, from its financial model to its function within a globalized economy. Along the way, it skewers its lightning-rod targets with a precision too sharp to be considered entirely fictional.
That its author is not only well-versed in satire, having written four other novels in the genre, but is also a professor of English at the University of Toronto and an experienced college administrator, further blurs the lines between comic fiction and brutal fact. It’s the kind of no-holds-barred book only a consummate insider would know to write—but only one who is also conveniently outside the American university system could get away with writing.
“This is someone who’s got the inside dope on what can go on at universities, especially with international students, and what kind of con games are going on,” said Margaret Atwood, a friend and fellow Torontonian.
The novel, like Boyagoda himself, is often very funny—even as the dilemmas its characters face read as tragedy. Its cast includes the bickering members of a Sri Lankan hotel cleaner’s family, insecure American freshmen, dead-end third-tier college professors and their highflying Ivy League counterparts and dispirited university functionaries. An old-fashioned Dickensian tale, it sweeps across continents and campuses, from a classic liberal-arts college to a stand-in for Harvard University to an urban technical school to the dilapidated buildings of a state-run university in Sri Lanka.
“I’m a joyful person,” Boyagoda said in an interview, though he prefers to see his outlook on academia as “hopeful” rather than optimistic. He smiles and laughs frequently. He bikes everywhere. He derives energy from his students and from his four daughters, ages 14 to 20. They help him and his American wife, Anna, also an educator, care for Boyagoda’s father, an immigrant from Sri Lanka who has dementia and lives with the family.
The germ of the novel came to Boyagoda during the pandemic, when he was serving as a vice-dean. An urban legend was circulating about a statistics grad student selling passing grades to international students. The cheating scheme itself may well have been apocryphal, but it felt tantalizingly plausible.
“As a novelist, it stayed with me,” Boyagoda said. “Who would sell grades for a stats course? Why would someone buy grades? What’s motivating them? Why wouldn’t the university be doing something about it?” What he didn’t want to do, he explained, was write “another novel about a creative writing professor and his drama with students.”
In addition to writing novels—the first of which was a finalist for Canada’s prestigious Giller Prize; he’s written eight books in total—Boyagoda teaches literature full-time. For his students next semester, kids raised in a purportedly “post-literature era,” he’s assigning three 700-page novels, he noted mischievously, books by George Eliot, Ralph Ellison and Kiran Desai.
On RateMyProfessors, students remark on Boyagoda’s heavy assignments, tough grading and distaste for cellphones, but also hail his “comedy.” When alerted to these reviews, Boyagoda laughed. “Guilty as charged,” he said.
“Randy’s one of those people in academia who is very well educated but doesn’t have an ounce of superiority about him,” said John Irving, who frequently guest lectures in Boyagoda’s classroom. “It’s amazing to see how willing students are to talk in his classrooms, how little afraid they feel of being mocked or put down—he gets complete candor out of them.”
Negotiating competing interests seems to come naturally to him. Like many college campuses, after the Oct. 7 Hamas attack on Israel, the University of Toronto was embroiled in protests, encampments and discord; part of the school’s response was to convene a working group on civil discourse. Boyagoda was put in charge, serving for two years. It’s the kind of thankless task many professors would flee from, but Boyagoda relished the prospect and thinks the group, which is ongoing, made progress.
He has since pivoted to another formidable academic concern: the waning prestige of the humanities. In July, Boyagoda became the director of the Jackman Humanities Institute and special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science. This fall, he is starting a series of gatherings he calls the Dead Book Club. (Dead writers feature heavily among his favorites: St. Augustine, Dante, William Faulkner, Evelyn Waugh, Saul Bellow.)
“The goal is to encourage students to read for its own sake and have conversation for its own sake,” Boyagoda said. “The importance of the humanities will be revealed to those who participate.”
“Lords of Serendipity,” which publishes next week, reflects Boyagoda’s commitment to the pursuit of knowledge: “I’m supposed to say I learn more from my students than they do from me, but no,” Boyagoda said. “I enjoy sharing my excitement and joy about literature and ideas. There are these moments when you are teaching and you can see someone’s face change because they didn’t know something and then they did. That moment when you’re actually watch someone enlarge themselves is deeply satisfying.”
In literary circles, Boyagoda is often referred to as a Catholic novelist, a description he embraces. “A novelist willing to give shape and voice to contemporary religious experience is needed,” Boyagoda said. “I understand myself as a Catholic novelist, provided that I’m not only a Catholic novelist, I’m also a South Asian novelist and I’m a Canadian novelist. I don’t want to be captive to one label.”
His characters, he said, are subjected to what he calls “Graham Greene character situations.”
“They are trying to do good in a fallen world and realize the most they can do is less harm than someone else would do in that same role,” he explained. “They have to accept they are complicit in something that provides some good thing to others. It’s a very Graham Greene way of thinking about sacrifice.”
The campus green they inhabit is a febrile zone in which lofty ideals and cynicism regularly collide. It’s a place where a traditional holiday college celebration is now an occasion for political protest. Kids freely police one another inside and out of the classroom with social media their constant, ready weapon of choice. International students, knowing their family’s financial futures hinge on their degrees, operate in terror of failure and deportation.
Early readers of the book include Gary Shteyngart and Junot Diaz, both of whom have taught at universities and written comic novels. They each contacted Boyagoda midway through to say, in essence, “You nailed it.”
As biting as “Lords of Serendipity” can be, Boyagoda’s faith in higher education remains undaunted.
“It’s absurd that we live in societies that make the decision to take people between the ages of 18 and 22, when they are most physically capable of contributing to our nations and communities, and tell them, ‘Go away for four years, and read and learn and have conversations,’” he said. “I want students to be aware of what an incredible privilege that is.”
Corrections & Amplifications
Randy Boyagoda is a special advisor on the humanities to the dean of arts and science at the University of Toronto. An earlier version of this article incorrectly said he is a special adviser to the dean of humanities. (Corrected on Sept. 2)
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