The Two Faces of Philanthropy: Violence, Hypocrisy, and the Illusion of Justice by Zoe Daniels
Zoe Daniels, they/them, is a wearer of many hats. A Brand and Marcomms consultant, Racial Justice consultant, baddy writer, hopelessly romantic poet, community organiser and stand-up comedian when they feel like it. They’re the communications and brand lead for JMB Consulting and Spark. This piece is part of an ongoing series for Uncharitable Papers called The Absolute State of It, covering the state of the Third Sector, the good, the bad and the downright ugly.
NB: In this piece, the author uses the term philanthropy to refer to philanthropic institutions, i.e. charities.
“For the oppressors, however, it is always the oppressed (whom they obviously never call “the oppressed” but—depending on whether they are fellow countrymen or not—”those people” or “the blind and envious masses” or “savages” or “natives” or “subversives”) who are disaffected, who are “violent”, “barbaric,” “wicked” or “ferocious” when they react to the violence of the oppressors.”
Learning that legality is not morality
We’re living in strange times, whereby everything we have been taught to believe is being stripped from its core to the bare bones. We’re learning that justice, as we’ve been taught, is non-existent and in the eyes of the system, morality is but a buzzword. We’re learning that violence as defined by the state can only be enacted if you are a Black or racialised person, Indigenous, gender-expansive, disabled or poor.
Since we learnt to recognise colour and understand the words being spoken or shown to us, we’ve been taught that men in blue are here to protect us. Whether our parents tell us these tall tales or the school system decides to peddle these lies, these are all our teachings. We’re taught that the law defines morality and that we must abide by it to the letter.
When we start building our identity away from childhood, our curiosity is sparked, and we start asking questions, challenging the status quo because, as teenagers and young folks, we think we know more. Because, look, the adults are a mess, and the world’s on fire, so why wouldn’t we be geniuses compared to them? That’s if you’re lucky; that’s if you haven’t had to grow up in a state that makes you pledge allegiance every morning ahead of class (Hello, M’urica!) or sign up for military duty to fight for a country that shouldn’t exist (he who should not be named), or having a very limited and skewed understanding of the outside world beyond the shores you reside in (Israel and other Imperial friends). If we’re lucky despite all odds, we hope to have developed into critical-thinking adults. If you’ve been fortunate, you’ve attended a school that taught you the power of critical discourse.
Even if you’re one of the lucky ones, chances are your world has been built on the foundations of white supremacy culture. I know mine was. I’ve had the privilege of growing up in two different countries—both, unfortunately, dominated by white people. However, I also attended two diverse schools filled with students from all over the world. One of them even prepared students for the IB (International Baccalaureate), exposing me to different perspectives, cultures, and ways of thinking.
Between my friendships, my education, and the way my parents raised me, I started to see the invisible threads that hold up a system designed to favour one school of thought—one shaped by white supremacy culture. That awareness didn’t mean I was immune to it. The world of work still managed to pull me into its web, reinforcing the very structures I thought I had begun to unlearn.
Now that I’ve set the stage, you’re probably wondering what in earth's name is this person babbling about. Ranting and raving like nobody’s business. Stay with me because I’m about to drop some truth bombs. All of our lives, we’ve been taught things based on a stack of hypocrisies. Take violence, for instance. The Cambridge Dictionary defines it quite simply as “Actions that are intended or likely to hurt people or cause damage.”
Sounds simple, right? If only it were so.
Who gets to define violence?
The state deems who is violent through its criminal ‘injustice’ (as a dear comrade puts it) system, whilst having been built off the backs of Black, Indigenous and racialised communities. Those of us who are awake know that Western Imperial entities came to fruition through violence. The Industrial Revolution was only made possible due to the Enslavement of Black people. When we examine the history of philanthropy, we can begin to understand how it was designed as a tool of oppression rather than liberation. The Non-profit industrial complex is real, and it is inherently violent. Sure, there’s beauty in supporting people and providing aid, but not when that support and aid is conditional. Thomas Sankara, former leader of Burkina Faso, said it best:
“Imperialism is a system of exploitation that occurs not only in the brutal form of those who come with guns to conquer territory. Imperialism often occurs in more subtle forms, a loan, food aid, blackmail. We are fighting this system that allows a handful of men on Earth to rule all of humanity.”
We’re often shown that violence is a man holding a gun, it’s a knife, it’s armed robbery, and it’s Black children rapping to drill. Violence is the ordinary person who decides to take matters into their own hands by pointing and killing Healthcare CEOs (shout out to my man Luigi), to looting, to taking it to the streets and shouting “f*** the police.”
What violence is not (according to those in power): withholding healthcare from millions of impoverished Americans, using the full force of militarised violence to subjugate Black, Indigenous and racialised folks, making it unlawful to live in the body you identify with, poisoning the water you drink, building housing which the architects knew would one day erupt in flames engulfing a whole community of souls with it, refusing to give aid to countries that are living under genocidal regimes and initiating famines.
Yet, the true definition is simple: violence is the act of harming others.
Unpacking the lies of philanthropy
Recent events pertaining to Israel and its brutal occupation of Palestine, Gaza and The West Bank and the dismantling of USAID (United States Agency of International Development) have made it very clear that philanthropy, as we know it, benefits from how the state defines violence. The philanthropic sector does not like to share power; it is still led largely by people who are white, who believe themselves to be saviours, having been passed down the legacy from their missionary forebearers. Who still work with fossil fuel industries and weapons manufacturers (look no further than Stonewall) whilst preaching anti-oppressive values. The dichotomy is screaming. Therefore, how they define violence is often based on how the state defines violence.
These events—freezing foreign aid to countries deliberately underdeveloped by former colonial powers like the U.K. and Germany—highlight a persistent colonial legacy. And yes, Germany was deeply involved in colonialism, too. It brutally conquered Namibia, leaving behind a lasting system of white supremacy that remains unaddressed to this day. Instead of genuinely reckoning with its colonial past, Germany has primarily focused on confronting the Holocaust of Jewish people—while often overlooking its attempts to wipe out Roma, Disabled, and LGBTQIA+ communities. At the same time, it forced the sterilisation of Black people and imprisoned Anarchist thinkers.
At last year’s Uncharitable event, How the Charity Sector Failed Palestine, one of the speakers expressed how NGOs (Non-Government Organisations) were controlling the narrative in regards to how Palestinians were being treated by their oppressors, i.e. the IOF (Israel Occupation Forces) and as a result were playing an active role in the oppression of Palestinians. They were micro-managing and controlling Palestinians who worked at their organisations, restricting their ability to tell their story in their own words. We know what the truth can do, and we know why fascist states do everything they can to withhold the truth. It's straight outta’ the Nazi’s playbook. Look no further than the reprehensible Joseph Goebbels.
All of this has lifted the lid on the hypocrisy of philanthropy and how philanthropy can be inherently violent. Philanthropy does not seek to break the chains of oppression but instead aims to keep things as they are. To keep us smiling and waving past the problems. Because it needs to keep people employed, problems need to exist, and that is capitalism in a nutshell. Anything that has been born out of an economic structure inspired by inequity and injustice will never be the antidote to oppression.
How we break free from hypocrisy
For us to move forward and truly start looking towards fighting for a liberatory future, and yes, I mean fighting, because that is what this requires. As the late great Anarchist legend Lucy Parsons once said:
“Let every dirty, lousy tramp arm himself with a revolver or a knife and lay in wait on the steps of the palaces of the rich and stab or shoot the owners as they come out.*”
I’m not advocating for violence. What I am saying is that there is a very real risk of violence happening when people feel that they are at a loss; echoing our dear Reverend Martin Luther King, “Riot is the language of the unheard.”
To truly break free from this hypocrisy before we reach the stage where people feel they can no longer take it, the philanthropic sector must reckon with its past, break itself down, and divest, divest, divest. But do so in a way that ensures that people working for those institutions are part of the process and the learning journey.
By this, I mean the employees, senior management team, directors, and board must work together consciously to uproot the systems of oppression that keep the institutions' wheels turning. Liberation is not achieved by merely planting seeds; everyone involved in the struggle, whether historically oppressed or not, must play an active role in the solution, in this case, divestment. In saying so, the work must be grounded and led by the knowledge and practices of people who have been historically oppressed: Black, Indigenous, racialised, disabled and poor folks. If liberation is to be achieved, the institution must resource employees with the funds and time to take part in deep reflection and critical analysis so that they may feel confident in engaging in transformative change.
This work can also not be solely left for employees who experience marginalisation; experiencing marginalisation does not necessarily make you an ‘expert by experience.’ It’s important to understand that white supremacy culture impacts us all, so calling on support with this work from outside of the institution is crucial.
Without this, no meaningful change can take place. The people working there will continue to think the way they do. They will continue in another role at another organisation, engaging in the same harmful actions. The violent exploitation of people experiencing marginalisation will persist if we do not recognise that violence is defined by the oppressor and not the oppressed. Do unhoused people have less of a right to define violence than the police? Philanthropy, as it stands, tends to work hand in hand with the oppressor, providing band-aids rather than long-term actions that bring about genuine justice.
Through this band-aid strategy, they firmly keep their knees on the necks of people experiencing marginalisation. Liberation won’t happen by pretending to care, adopting the latest buzzwords while keeping violent systems flowing as they are designed to. They’ll shower campaigns with money and beg for donations with trauma-porn narratives whilst having a hefty reserve of funds, which they say “is for a rainy day.” But that rainy day is lining their pockets rather than building sustainable** solutions to break free from the chains of aid.
So I call on you, yes you, if you are a person working in philanthropy, to really question and examine how you may be complicit in this violence and to call out the hypocrisy of the sector. Make it accountable and advocate for actual, meaningful acts of repair and restoration that acknowledge that the way philanthropy is structured is inherently violent. Be curious about philanthropy’s past and start dreaming and weaving a bold and bright future that lays to rest the idea that it’s here to save people experiencing marginalisation, and let that charge be led by those with a lived experience of oppression. As we start, we end with Paulo Freire's words:
“It’s only the oppressed who, by freeing themselves, can free their oppressors.”
*Lucy Parsons was responding to a Chicago Tribune article that called for people to leave out poisoned food to kill unhoused individuals. In defiance, she essentially declared, "If you want a fight to the death, then let it be a fight to the death." These are her own words, published in the Chicago Tribune on December 20, 1886. While some of the language she used, such as "tramp," is now considered discriminatory, we have retained it to faithfully reflect Parsons' speech and the historical context in which she wrote.
**Sustainability here refers to ‘long-term’ solutions that make a positive impact for all, in particular people experiencing marginalisation.