(4 of 4)
For all the creeping altruism, the notion of giving back is still not as ingrained as it is in the U.S., largely because Europeans are used to paying so much in taxes. John Logan, who runs a foundation that Britain's Vodafone set up in 2002 and is urging its subsidiaries to do the same, has a hard time explaining the need for corporate philanthropy in some parts of Europe. For example, in Sweden, where taxes are among the highest in Europe, Logan says, "persuading our friends that they should be encouraged to give is quite a difficult job."
In France raising money also continues to be a struggle. Marie-France Blanco, a former teacher and social worker, has battled since the mid-1980s to find funding for a program for children of prison inmates. Blanco, who was appalled to discover that the children of French prison inmates are often forgotten by the authorities who lock up their parents, could get the help of only her husband, an executive at the French subsidiary of farm-equipment manufacturer Massey-Ferguson, before she decided to create an association. "When I said prison, everyone turned their head," she recalls.
Then a contact referred Blanco to the Van Leer foundation, which agreed to fund her group. She has since expanded to a national federation with 17 regional associations. Thanks to her, several French prisons have facilities for visiting children. After three years of arm twisting, the Fleury-Merogis prison outside Paris last month let her stage the first Father's Day party for kids and their jailed dads. Blanco still has to struggle to raise money. She recently wrote to all 63 companies in her local chamber of commerce. Not one gave a euro.
There are other kinks in Europe's fledgling philanthropy as well. There are strict limits in some countries on the amount of donations that companies can deduct from their taxes. In the U.S. foundations must disburse 5% of their assets annually to qualify for not-for-profit status. In Europe there's no such stipulation. For example, the Robert Bosch Foundation, Germany's largest, gave just over 1% of its $6 billion in assets last year.
But the philanthropy bug continues to spread. In Regensburg, Johann Vielberth, a real estate developer, set up a foundation earlier this year to finance a new institute of real estate studies with four professorships at the university. Next year he will put up a new building to house it. Vielberth, 72, says that although his family has backed local causes for 150 years, he is formalizing that tradition and taking the generosity to a new level: the donation to the university exceeds $10 million. "It's time for a culture of philanthropy to begin again," he says. Given Europe's growing funding needs, it's happening not a moment too soon.