While we’ve been mainly focused on the need for citizens and nonprofits to fight back as Trump, Musk, and their lapdogs go hell for leather to destroy the U.S. government while padding their own pockets, we must also cast our gaze downward, to the tawdry spectacle of Congress.

There, the Republican majority, a trembling congregation of the fearful, cowers in the shadow of their golden idols, too spineless to wield the very power the Constitution grants them—the power of the purse. Once the instrument of statesmanship, it now lies abandoned, buried under the fear and folly of men too frightened to cross their benefactors in Mar-a-Lago and Silicon Valley.

Meanwhile, at the local level, ordinary citizens are showing more mettle than these well-fed jackals in Washington. In a fight that should shame every craven politician on Capitol Hill, donors and community-minded individuals are using their own financial clout to do what Congress refuses to—hold the powerful accountable. This power, once assumed to belong to the elected representatives of the people, is now being exercised by those who refuse to see their communities ransacked by the same brand of avarice and arrogance that infects the national stage.

Tiny But Mighty Outpost of Defiance

If ever there was a state that could be said to have rebellion woven into its DNA, it’s Rhode Island. From the day Roger Williams was booted out of Massachusetts for being too radical, the Ocean State has cultivated a proud tradition of thumbing its nose at the powers that be. This tiny outpost of defiance—home to two of our favorite dissidents, Tom Ahern and his partner the late Simone Joyaux– has once again proved its mettle.  This time in the halls of medicine, where the battle for South County Hospital has erupted into open warfare between donors, doctors, and an administration seemingly deaf to all but the jingling of executive bonuses.

For generations, South County Hospital was a jewel of Rhode Island’s medical system, a beacon of community-driven healthcare. Then came Aaron Robinson, a CEO of the modern stripe—equal parts autocrat and spreadsheet enthusiast—who promptly ran the place like a penny-pinching railroad tycoon with a deep distaste for his own workers. Under his watch, oncologists fled en masse, leaving cancer patients in the lurch. Cardiologists vanished like morning mist, staffing shortages turned routine visits into months-long ordeals, and even the hospital’s lactation consultants found themselves on the chopping block.

Naturally, the good citizens of Rhode Island did not take this lying down. Doctors and former trustees penned a scathing 900-word letter to the board, an indictment that made Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses read like a love letter. In no uncertain terms, they accused Robinson of fostering an “adversarial relationship” with the very people who made the hospital run and, more damningly, of demonstrating a total indifference to patient care.

 Hospital Board’s Response to Firestorm?

A pay raise!  Robinson’s salary shot up by a staggering 60% in just two years, ballooning to an eye-watering $757,503, all while the hospital hemorrhaged money and services. The community, upon hearing this, collectively choked on its clam cakes.

At this point, one might have expected Robinson to display some modicum of humility, but humility, it seems, was not included in his executive toolkit. Instead, he and the board turned their legal cannons on the community itself, launching a lawsuit against Save South County Hospital, a grassroots group of 2,000 locals, donors, and former staff.

Their alleged crime? Daring to protest the administration’s mismanagement.  The lawsuit, dripping with Orwellian menace, accuses them of “tortious interference with expected donations”—a highfalutin way of saying, “How dare you tell people not to give us money while we destroy this hospital!”

Save South County Hospital fired back, calling the lawsuit a “vindictive maneuver” meant to silence dissent and distract from the administration’s spectacular incompetence. Meanwhile, donors, once the lifeblood of the institution, are turning off the philanthropic taps.

And who can blame them? Studies show that local philanthropy overwhelmingly flows to community-based institutions, but only so long as those institutions maintain public trust. South County Hospital, once a beloved medical sanctuary, has seen that trust evaporate like an ebbing tide.

The Importance of Transparency in Community Nonprofits

The South County Hospital debacle serves as a stark warning about what happens when a nonprofit institution forgets its duty to the community it serves. The numbers tell a clear story: roughly 70-75% of all charitable giving in America—about $350-375 billion annually—goes to local or regional organizations, including community hospitals. Of that, approximately 15-20% is directed specifically to healthcare institutions, meaning that between $50-75 billion per year is donated by individuals who expect their contributions to enhance patient care, not to pad executive salaries.

When donors begin to suspect that their money is being misused, they do not simply grumble into their chowder—they walk.

Across the country, hospitals, food banks, schools and even animal shelters that have been caught prioritizing executive largesse over beneficiaries’ and staff workers welfare have faced an exodus of financial support. The lesson is clear: community institutions must remain transparent, responsive, and accountable, or they risk alienating the very people who sustain them. South County Hospital is now finding this out the hard way.

This latest chapter in Rhode Island’s long history of rebellion proves one thing: you can push  Rhode Islanders, but you cannot push them far. The fight for South County Hospital is not just about one institution—it is about the spirit of defiance, the refusal to accept mediocrity wrapped in a boardroom PowerPoint.

Roger