Philanthropist in Poverty

I became a (lower-case “p”) philanthropist while I was myself, poor. I was 6 or 7 years of age living in Tacoma, Washington and slowly became aware of the conditions of poverty around me as I noted the number of people coming up to my mom asking for change on any given day. I remember digging around in the car looking for dimes, nickels, anything, because we often didn’t have much to spare ourselves.

My mother was consistently visibly frustrated by what we in Development circles call “the ask,” wherein out of the blue a stranger would approach us at a gas station or a fast food joint to ask for —insert need here— even though the need was clear. We’d sit through long, detailed stories and explanations for what an individual would use the money for, but I never cared. There was a need, and maybe we could do something.

I honor that tradition today by participating in many circles of community care, including Philanthropy and mutual aid for Black & sex working communities.

I think of “capital-P” Philanthropy as a systemic extension of this same exchange. The poor make asks of the wealthy, asking for scraps, anything, because other support systems have crumpled or disappeared or were never there to begin with.

So, why are the poor continuing to do the heavy lifting?

Give your excess money away. It was never yours to begin with.