[A few thoughts on this, our nation's birthday.]Given the recent outpouring of philanthropy amongst our country's wealthiest citizens, I though it might be time to reflect upon the nature of giving of oneself, be that "self" seated in the soul or in the pocketbook.
Bill Gates recently announced he would be taking a backseat at Microsoft in order to helm his (and his wife's, because I guess half of it's hers) philanthropic organization. Shortly thereafter, Warren Buffett (no relation to Jimmy, and even richer) decided that he would one-up the estimable Mr. and Mrs. Gates by donating approximately $31 BILLION (give or take a buck or two) to their selfsame outfit. Cheers and huzzah to all parties involved, and long may they prosper in their do-gooding. Word.
Coincidentally (because this is how all these thoughts wind up happening), I also just finished You Shall Know Our Velocity!, by Dave Eggers. Mr. Eggers wrote a brilliant novel about two lifelong friends who decide to travel around the world in a week to give away $32K (US). Will, the main character, received the money for being on a lightbulb (read the book) and decided that he must give it away in the most extravagant, eccentric fashion he could contemplate. So he and Hand (his lifelong friend) hit Senegal and Morocco and Latvia and Estonia (though not in that order) and put obscene amounts of currency directly into the hands of the impoverished and deserving.
Will and Hand also decided to strap some cash to a goat with medical tape and a message bearing lightningbolts alongside a line from a Scorpions tune, but that is merely a sidenote. Again, read the book.
The whole "impoverished and deserving" bit is what YSKOV! is about, really. Charity normally takes the form of anonymous people writing not-so-anonymous checks to people who collect said checks (often during obscenely extravagant shindigs) and afterward set about giving the collected monies to deserving parties. Those parties, when the charity is done right, are impoverished and, indeed, deserving. Sometimes people skim, and sometimes charities must pay obscene amounts for the obscenely extravagant shindigs. Alas, such is all in a day's work of giving. But by going directly to the source, by handing out cash in person to the people who need and deserve it, Will and Hand subvert the normal architecture of charitable giving. Will's mom asks him at one point, via telephone, if he doesn't find his mission to be a bit tacky. She means to bring to his attention that handing cash to a person, fingers upon palms, removes the filter of anonymity and distance that most Westerners associate with charity. Surely there must be some guilt that changes hands along with monetary notes, right?
It's an interesting point. After all, when was the last time that you put a quarter in a homeless person's cup, or responded with anything other than eyes-ahead ignorance when a person approached you for cash on the street? Myself, I don't give to anyone in person. But it hurts me when I claim no change at curbside, and it hurts me to reflect upon my stinginess in the comfort of my air-conditioned apartment while I write these words. Will's mom has a point that bears mentioning here: which kind of charity is the right kind of charity, and what are the proper methods and means?
Not all forms of contribution to our fellow humans must take the form of anonymous donation. Were anonymity the key that unlocks our wallets, there would be no Habitat For Humanity, no Save The Children or the like. These charities thrive on the fact that they put a face on need, and that face is multicolored, multiethnic, multineedy. What Will and Hand set out to do is neither tacky nor ill-conceived, though their doubts are what make Eggers' novel great. Reading it made me regret not pitching a bit into the cup of a less-fortunate, not listening to the story of a person who may or may not be in need, withholding the odd smoke from someone with no means to obtain one. Sad, really.
So, in this spirit of giving that the anniversary of the birth of our (outwardly) democratic society puts me, I went out yesterday and donated blood. Sure, it's a somewhat faceless operation, all needles and iodine and t-shirts and weary smiles from your friendly local phlebotomist, but the posters on the walls of the donation sites feature the sort of people I might be helping with my pint of A-Negative. Kids with sickle-cell anemia, people who need a new liver, a new heart, a new pancreas, a new lease on the life I so often take for granted. It's a pleasure to help. It makes me feel good. It doesn't cost a nickel. And it shows how one little prick can help a few people in need.Take that last comment any way you want.
Every charity, no matter how nameless or faceless it may seem, should eventually help someone with both face and name. That's what helps me sleep at night, at any rate. I hope I'm not simply naïve. Why don't we all get out there during this weeklong celebration of America's independence and help someone else achieve some degree of that precious commodity, independence. It doesn't matter how, when, where, or why you do it--just do it. If it's a dollar or a pint, a billion or a houseraising, give a little back this week in appreciation of everything we hold dear as Americans and human beings. Timeframes are no concern, so if you're reading this next week, next month, next year, get out and give. Every marathon, as they say, takes a step to start. Let today's be the first step of many, and keep the race moving. Peace.
