Uneasy Street

by Sherman, Rachel

  Some of these women spoke of their volunteer work as satisfying in the same ways their jobs had been, and they did not express a desire to return to paid work. When talking about what she would do once her children were older, I asked Frances if it would matter whether she got paid. She responded, “No, because I don’t need the money. And no, because for the moment, at least, all my volunteer work is done with a lot of other pretty smart, highly motivated people. So I’m still in an environment that I think would be somewhat equivalent to an environment where I was getting paid.” Like a few of the other women I interviewed, Frances seemed well on her way to developing a career in philanthropy, though she (like most people) would probably not identify it as such.12

  Some stay-at-home mothers, many of whom had young children, seemed to me less actively involved with philanthropy in the broad sense as a key source of their identities. Many of their husbands sat on boards of arts or poverty-alleviation organizations. Such work struck me in several cases as something that was expected of the husbands in their professional capacity. But the women themselves rarely described particular philanthropic interests of their own—possibly because they did not feel that the money was theirs, as we will see in chapter 5. They gave primarily to educational institutions they were connected to and to causes espoused by their friends. While many volunteered—sometimes quite extensively—at their children’s schools, they did not describe wanting to volunteer in other organizations. Sometimes their volunteering felt perfunctory.13

  Rather than talking about improving the community, these women tended to be more focused on their nuclear families’ needs. Penny, for example, had participated enthusiastically in fundraising at her kids’ school. But, she said, “Other charity stuff, I feel like I just haven’t been engaged in anything else. Like, if someone came to me, or I was to seek out something, I feel like that could be a next thing. But I don’t have time. Or the interest, right now. Like, thank God, no one’s been really sick. I haven’t done a cancer thing, or this or that.” Penny seems to imply that she would only be motivated to become more active in philanthropy if she were to have a reason that came very close to her own life or her family.

  Indeed, it seemed to me that these women’s identities were not so tied to this kind of charitable and community work largely because they did not consider themselves to have the responsibilities of noblesse oblige and community building of the kind Ostrander talked about. In contrast to most women in the suburbs, whose environments featured a set of clearly defined local institutions, the women in the city were less likely to see themselves as part of a cohesive, singular community of wealthy people. This tendency may be partly due to the characteristics of the group of people I talked with, including their willingness to define themselves as wealthy.14 But it also illuminates the diversity of wealthy microcultures in and around the city.

  The lack of identification with philanthropy among these women also seems linked to the strong focus on family at this stage of life, as I discuss later. Several women planned to volunteer more when their children were older. Maya said, for example, “I’m not giving enough of my time right now” because her children were so young. She asserted, “My goal longer term is to do a lot more philanthropic stuff” rather than go back to a paid job. This vision indicates that these women may become more like those who have deeper identity commitments to philanthropic work.

  Ambivalent Identities

  The other group of people who tended to take their philanthropy very seriously were downward-oriented liberals and progressives, who usually (though not always) had both inherited wealth and paying jobs. Some gave away amounts in the hundreds of thousands of dollars; others gave less, but all spoke of themselves as having a philanthropic responsibility. Like more traditional givers, some described having been raised in households where philanthropy was emphasized. Eliana, for example, had been trained from an early age to give away money. She said, “My parents gave us a book called Robin Hood Was Right [a progressive guide to philanthropy]. That was our first thing. They’re like, ‘Here’s two hundred dollars. What are you going to do?’ So they gave us to understand that that was just, like, not optional. … It was like, you know, the Eleventh Commandment.” But in contrast to those who took volunteerism and philanthropy more for granted, these donors were less comfortable with giving a public face to these activities. This distinction was connected to other variations in their giving habits.

  First, they volunteered less of their time than more traditional givers. Several served on the boards of nonprofit organizations and/or participated in the philanthropy of their family foundations. But they did not speak often of devoting time to their children’s schools or other organizations. This is largely, I believe, because their professional obligations meant they had less free time. Many worked for nonprofits, so they were paid for labor they might otherwise have volunteered, and some interpreted this paid work as their “contribution.” But they also did not typically belong to communities where traditional public volunteering (usually by stay-at-home mothers) was the norm.

  They also tended to give to different kinds of causes. Like traditional givers, these donors usually gave to their own and their children’s schools.15 But, whereas more traditional givers also favored local institutions and civic organizations that were more middle-of-the-road politically, these givers tended to support organizations advocating reproductive rights; local and international health and human rights organizations; small arts organizations; and antipoverty organizations. The most progressive gave to organizations that were more critical of economic and racial inequality.

  Progressive herself, Sara and her husband, who worked in finance, mostly socialized with people from the corporate world, who were more politically conservative. She described trying to raise money from these friends for a progressive women’s organization whose board she had recently joined: “I’m trying to think about, like, how are my friends going to, you know, get [the organization’s] work for social change and social-justice feminism. A lot of people are going to be like, ‘What? They did, huh?’ And frankly, I think a lot of my friends haven’t really thought of charitable giving beyond, you know, an alma mater. I would say, for the most part, my friends’ giving is probably focused on their schools.”

  These givers also differed from more traditional ones in that they were or had been more conflicted about recognizing themselves as wealthy people, which had affected their giving habits. They tended to describe developing a philanthropic practice over time as they came to terms with their identities. Gary said that, for many years, “I literally gave five hundred dollars to hundreds of organizations. I exaggerate not. Hundreds of organizations.” He had done this, he said, “To stay below the radar. To not draw attention that I was giving a lot of money.” He did not want to be pegged as a potential donor, an issue many of the wealthier people I talked with mentioned, because it meant managing more requests for money. But giving his money away also tapped into Gary’s conflicts about having the money to begin with. Yet he had largely overcome these conflicts, saying, “Another transom I’ve crossed is a readiness to give in bigger amounts that definitely can draw attention.”

  Experts I interviewed who worked in the world of progressive or alternative philanthropy also identified difficulty in giving money away as a paradoxical consequence of feeling troubled about wealth. Diane, a financial advisor for affluent progressives, told me that people who were more conflicted about their wealth were actually much harder for fundraisers to deal with because they were less straightforward about how much they wanted to give and to whom, and they were not good at saying no. She said, “They often give misleading cues to the fundraisers, you know, it’s like, ‘Would you like to give?’ ‘Well, I’m not quite sure, I need to check with …’ You know, they can’t say no. They won’t say, ‘I’ve got my strategic giving plan, and I’m sorry but I don’t give to animals, I do give to women, so [I won’t donate to you],’ you know?” Such people, she
said, “waste a lot of energy in indecision, or between their desires and their ‘shoulds’ and ‘oughts,’ and would be a lot more liberated and probably a lot easier for fundraisers to deal with if they could just be clear about who they are.” Diane means they should be clear about who they are in terms of what they are willing to give, but in order to have this clarity they must also be clear about who they are as wealthy people. She said, “People who are clear are at peace, and they’re just easier to deal with and they have an easier time living their lives.” Ironically, then, discomfort about being wealthy in the first place can prevent philanthropic “giving back.”

  Often these conflicts had to do with acting publicly, “coming out” as having wealth. As we have seen, Olivia said she wanted to be especially generous with her money because, she acknowledged, “I didn’t earn it.” She wanted to use these resources “to help somebody out [who’s] in need. It’s to equalize.” She gave money to people in her extended family, and she and Scott contributed hundreds of thousands of dollars every few years to a donor-advised fund.16 But she was torn about developing an identity as a philanthropist, largely because she was uncomfortable identifying as a wealthy person. Speaking of her desire to be “normal,” she said, “I mean, that’s a big reason why I don’t think I’ve grabbed the philanthropy bull by the horns.” She felt their charitable giving was “haphazard,” directed toward “obvious things like our kids’ schools.” She said she could imagine becoming more directed and consistent. “I know that a lot of the good deeds in the world wouldn’t have happened if people with money hadn’t supported them. So I know that. But, like, having that be my identity, [I’m] just not comfortable at all with that. I’m just not comfortable. And the vast majority of things we do anonymously.”

  Kevin was conflicted about the wealth he had access to through his partner, including their large home, mostly because he agreed with political critiques of inequality (“I’m Occupy”). He also feared judgment from progressive peers, a fear that testifies to the diversity of his network. But he described getting used to this identity after hosting an event for some activists, saying, “There are moments of clarity to me where [I think], ‘You know what, we are the people with the big house, and money has given us the possibility of, not just, like, buying fancy things for ourselves but kind of creating space where other things that I think are important can happen.’ So I have moments of kind of like, ‘Yes, let’s have all those activists into our home.’ Because there’s no other easy space to gather and this will be comfortable and we’ll do a thing and that’ll be useful.” Here Kevin overcomes his reluctance to make his privilege visible to other progressives, which then allows him to make a contribution he might have otherwise avoided. It also seems to be a step on the road to becoming more comfortable in this identity.

  Minimal Givers

  Regardless of their politics, the rest of the people I talked with—about half the sample—did not describe philanthropy or volunteering as a significant part of their identity. Nearly all said they would like to give more or felt that they “should” do so. They certainly believed that “giving back” in this way was desirable. But philanthropy was not a significant priority for them, and they did not seem especially committed to particular causes. Asked if he gave away money, Justin said, “To charity? Some. I’d like to give away more. But, yeah. … You know, different fundraisers come up. You know, someone has a fundraiser. This disaster stuff. Like, Haiti, I’m probably going to give some money to the Red Cross.” Like Justin, most gave away just a few thousand dollars a year, often to friends who asked for their own charitable causes. Others gave to a variety of causes to which they sometimes had personal ties, including reproductive rights, the arts, education, and health. Some gave to international organizations doing humanitarian work.

  Future Philanthropic Identities

  Many people I talked with also imagined becoming more involved in philanthropy in the future. Some of the wealthiest envisioned consolidating a more coherent philanthropic identity. For example, Lucy and her earner husband were giving away $250,000 per year, but they felt this was not enough. She said, “It should be a much greater percentage of what we earn on an annual basis. Like, it should be more in the millions of dollars, to our point of view.” Lucy was also unsatisfied with the causes to which they were giving. She felt that, rather than developing a coherent plan, she and her husband tended to give to friends who asked for money for their pet projects. She told me:

  Right now, it’s pretty pathetic. I think we donate a decent amount of money to our schools. And the only reason for that is because we don’t feel like we’ve been able to get our act together enough to actually give in a thoughtful way. We give to people when they ask, and not because we feel like it’s aligned with what our values are. I think what we have decided is that we’d like to go kind of strong and deep in a particular area, and not kind of all over the place. … But the challenge for us has been finding organizations that we feel are well run, whether we know enough about, to feel like we can really, like, channel a lot of money that way. Because it takes time and energy to do that. And we just haven’t had the time and energy to research all the organizations that we feel like are worthwhile. So we end up getting lazy.

  Similarly, Nicholas consistently set aside 5 percent of his income to give away, which went into a donor-advised fund, but he did not always disburse the money from the fund in a timely manner. He said, “I’m really bad at choosing where it goes. But I put the same, you know, 5 percent every year [into the fund]. I don’t give it out as fast as I put it in. And that’s an issue.” A former staff member with Resource Generation, an organization for young people with wealth, told me: “One of the big ways that class privilege plays out is perfectionism. So, the sense of ‘I have to come up with the perfect plan and do it right.’”17 These donors expressed a strong commitment to giving away money but lacked clear priorities for it and had not developed consistent positions.

  As noted previously, some potential givers described having kids as impeding their engaging in volunteer work or philanthropy. Chaz, for example, told me he and his wife had not given “significantly” to charitable causes. But, he said, “I’d say that it’s tough for it to be, like, a focus of ours now. Just, life with little kids. I think hopefully it will become more of a focus in the future for both of us. But right now, with three [small children], we’re just trying not to drown.” Janice told me, “I am very aware of being at a time in my life that’s very sort of inward-focused because I have little kids. I’m not as politically active as I used to be in social justice causes. I mean, I’m trying to give money to support them. But I’m not as involved.”

  Beyond the time commitments, having kids also shaped potential donors’ thinking about what it meant to have enough. Karen said, “When I was like, a teenager, I always thought, like, as soon as I had enough money to just meet my basic needs, I would just give the rest away. Like, how can you see people who don’t have enough and do anything luxurious? I mean this partly comes from the mother that I was raised by, who actually does live that way. But [my husband and I] were just talking about how your values change when you have kids, and you want to amass something to give to them.”

  Other people also mentioned postponing giving until after they had accumulated more assets. Donovan already had over $10 million; he gave away about $100,000 per year and also directed some of his family foundation’s giving. He told me, “My attitude is … I think I’m a pretty good investor. So I feel like I’m playing for a longer term. So I haven’t been willing to make very large [philanthropic] commitments because it’s going to reduce my flexibility, and that’s something I’ll be looking at as I get older. So probably in the next decade I’ll be looking at doing this more seriously.”18 Several people who currently gave away very little were also those most focused on amassing wealth to protect against risk in an unpredictable market, and they imagined that they might give more in the future.

&nb
sp; Paying Taxes as Giving Back

  Some people I spoke with spontaneously connected charitable giving to taxes.19 James, for example, gave away about $2,000 per year (less than 1 percent of his income, let alone his $3 million in assets). He said, without my raising the question of taxes, “Yeah, we don’t give a lot of money straight away. I do pay a shitload of federal income tax. It’s seemingly endless.” James seems not to see a difference between taxes and charitable contributions, but most of the rest of those I interviewed did. The more politically conservative people tended to distinguish taxes from philanthropy on the basis of who controls the ultimate destination of the money. In the quote at the beginning of the chapter, for example, Frances explicitly distinguishes philanthropic giving from paying taxes. That is, she denies that she has an obligation to pay more taxes, despite the unequal returns to assets she identifies, but she believes she does have an obligation to give her own money voluntarily to causes she chooses. Describing a similar logic, Alice said, of her husband: “It’s interesting. Because, like I said, he’s very generous. Very philanthropic. But he wants to decide what to do with his money. He doesn’t want the government to decide what to do with his money. … He thinks the private sector can do a better job with certain things.”

  By the same token, high earners were usually opposed to higher taxes, which seemed to take away their rightfully earned money. Paul, as we have seen, was adamant about the value of hard work as the basis for entitlement. He said that, with higher taxes “they’re taking more of my money that I’ve earned.” One stay-at-home mother and her husband (with an annual income of about $500,000) had voted for Romney, partly because, she said of her husband: “He’s one of these people that is being pegged as, you know, ‘You don’t pay your fair share. You’re not paying your fair share.’ It’s like, all his money goes [to taxes]! And that’s part of it, too, that’s very upsetting for him. Because it’s like, there’s no incentive for him to make more money because they just take more of it. And hand it out.” Even some of the more liberal or downward-oriented people had become increasingly antitax over time. Penny told me her husband, who earned about $3 million per year, had “become more of a Republican, because of taxes.” She laughed. “So, as he’s made more, he has to give half of it away or more. He’s like, ‘Oh my God. How is that possible? I don’t get that. I work so hard, now I have to give half of it away. Like, really?’”