I spent the last column talking about how we do not know where the money we give goes. I argued that not knowing whom to give to, and how NGOs use that money, limits our ability to give with confidence. But there is value to ignorance too, and a small incident that happened a couple of weeks ago brought it to mind.
An imam at a local mosque had called my wife and I for some help. A young woman, one of five daughters in a relatively deprived family, was to be married and her parents did not have much in the way of funds. The imam asked if we could contribute towards the cost of the wedding meal, which we did. He sent us a wedding card, adding that we are more than welcome to join the ceremony. I informed him that we will be attending a relative’s wedding in Lucknow.
Later, discussing it with my wife, I mentioned that I felt a little bad for not being able to attend, and in his own way the imam was assuring us that the money had been put to good use. She is usually quicker and clearer on these things, and replied, “Don’t be absurd. There was no way we could go to such a dinner, with both them and us knowing we had paid for it. It would just be showing that they were obligated to us.”
Too often we forget that money is also power; even in giving, the power remains. The recipient is belittled, the donor commands power. Various societies have developed complex rules for keeping such abuse at bay. My grandfather’s brother, in Gorakhpur, used to listen to those who came asking for help on the portico. There is an angle at the portico, and he used to sit in a way that the person asking could not see him, or he, the petitioner.
It was a Chinese partition; undoubtedly, the visitor knew the man behind the screen, and maybe my great-uncle also knew the person on the other side. Or he could certainly have found out. But the purpose of the partition was to avoid embarrassing the person seeking help, and if they met in public later, neither would be burdened by the obligation that inevitably comes from doing and accepting charity.
My father had another story that he would narrate with uproarious laughter. He had a friend who tried to do charity on the sly, so the recipients would be free of obligation. He bought blankets and visited the railway station at night. There would be the inevitable number of poor who had nowhere to go, and he would, in the dark of the night, sneakily distribute the blankets.
Then, because he was skulking out late in the night at the railway station, he attracted the attention of the local policeman. And as my father’s friend tried to slide a blanket under the arm of a sleeping man, he was caught and charged with stealing blankets. It was a tad difficult explaining what exactly he was doing, but my father and other friends managed to bail him out.
In today’s world, it is hard to be anonymous, and as the incident with my father’s friend illustrates, maybe not so wise to be surreptitious in your generosity. But these are principles that are worth thinking of.
When I was younger I used to think it was wise to give food instead of money to beggars, or to give aid in the way of education. I still think these are good things to give, but I also have come to wonder whether it is my right to tell people what they should do with what they have received.
We live in a world constrained by the power of money, or as the old joke goes, “Money isn’t a problem, but the lack of money sure is.” When we give money to someone, on condition that they do exactly as we like, what exactly are we doing? Are we allowing them a little more freedom than their current situation allows them, or using our status to enslave them further because they are in no position to refuse?
At the end of the day, it is our money, money often earned through hard work and sacrifice, and in having it, we have earned a measure of freedom. In giving it, we should be careful that we do so in ways that expand, not limit, the freedom of others.
Omair Ahmad is the South Asia Editor for The Third Pole, reporting on water issues in the Himalayas; @OmairTAhmad