“Philanthropy comes in many forms. For over a decade, Black Philanthropy Month has been a time of reflection on Black philanthropists’ contributions—including the contributions of Black liberation movements,” said Son Chau for Nonprofit Quarterly. “As an American-born, Vietnamese philanthropic professional, this annual convening in August prompts me to reflect not only on the financial and political contributions that Black communities up and down the socioeconomic ladder have made to a democratic society. It also encourages me to rethink the definition of philanthropy itself.”
“Black liberation movements have advanced social progress for those who have not traditionally had political power or access to capital: the working class (white and BIPOC), women, queer and trans people, and immigrants and refugees. These movements’ leaders—usually grassroots volunteers who I view, too, as philanthropists—have demonstrated solidarity in their non-monetary philanthropy. Their approach to philanthropy did not just focus on redistributing wealth for charitable purposes based on a donor’s individual intent or a generalized love of humankind. They collectively pooled resources—such as skills, leadership, and knowledge—for the love of their communities and to advance social movements and uplift humankind.”
“Philanthropy comes in many forms. For over a decade, Black Philanthropy Month has been a time of reflection on Black philanthropists’ contributions—including the contributions of Black liberation movements. As an American-born, Vietnamese philanthropic professional, this annual convening in August prompts me to reflect not only on the financial and political contributions that Black communities up and down the socioeconomic ladder have made to a democratic society. It also encourages me to rethink the definition of philanthropy itself.”
“Throughout grade school, my brothers and I were fed by free lunch programs modeled after the Panthers’ free breakfast program. Additionally, as children, we had access to universal healthcare with Santa Clara County, the first healthcare program of its kind in the nation, modeled after the Panthers’ free health clinics. Later, we received free higher education at California’s public universities. As we grew into adulthood, Black communities were increasingly denied the opportunities and resources for which they fought—and were being pushed out of their homes. East Palo Alto’s Black population has decreased significantly due to growing inequality and gentrification: from 60 percent of the city in 1980 to less than 2 percent in 2020. Similarly, in Oakland, where I reside now, the Black population has dropped by more than half, from almost half of the city in 1980 to only 20 percent in 2020.”
“Today, my elders continue to send resources to relatives in the region that was my family’s home over four decades ago. For instance, upon celebrating milestones of relatives abroad, living or deceased, my mother and father would remit funds to support family activities related to ancestral worship, intergenerational education, and economic development in the rural areas where my ancestors are buried.”
“Black leaders taught me and my family the power of our collective resiliency in the face of many forms of violence, whether it is by war, the state, or our economic system. Likewise, they contributed to the public and nonprofit infrastructure—a result of cross-racial solidarity movement work—from which we benefited. This infrastructure supported not only my family’s material success in this country, but also our inclusion in a multiracial democracy.”
“Our sector may not recognize the community-led philanthropy of my family or Black liberation organizers as tax-deductible contributions. But to me, this is what philanthropy looks like.”