“Generosity is the practice of solidarity that affirms in practice that our wellbeing is inextricably linked to others. It is a way of offering and extending what we have in the form of resources, time and even support as a deliberate attempt to disrupt capitalist systems of dominance.”
I grew up with the view that generosity is not exceptional or extraordinary. My greatest teacher of generosity was my father. From a young age, I watched how my father would give away his time, or anything else if someone expressed a need for it. This applied to food, the time my father spared to train or mentor others or share any other resources to which he had access. A review of the term generosity offers definitions such as: “Generosity…involves giving to others not simply anything in abundance but rather giving those things that are good for others. Generosity always intends to enhance the true wellbeing of those to whom it gives.”
My father’s normalising of giving and caring for the well-being of others was constantly reaffirmed in other parts of my upbringing. Because of my father’s example, there were things I thought were perfectly normal. For example, at school, my friends would wait for me to share my lunch with them (my father took great care to make our school sandwiches with flair) every day. I would share whatever I had with my classmates, whether it be my pocket money or our house as a base for us to gather and study together; or inviting people to share a meal. All these acts of generosity felt perfectly normal. My father’s role modelling made me feel that we were the richest family in our working-class neighbourhood. There always seemed to be enough for us to share with everyone. If anyone was hanging out with me or my siblings whatever was bought or given to us would be shared with my friends or cousins. It never occurred to me that we were ‘poor’ because I don’t remember ever feeling a sense of lack. Even those moments of enjoying simple things were filled with a sense of abundance. Perhaps this is nostalgia talking, but I miss those days when things were simple, interconnected, and our wellbeing was interdependent and we took care of each other. Of course, I also saw remember people hogging what they had and competing with people or making comparisons, but my father’s consistent and persistent way of being overshadowed these examples, turning them into exceptions rather than norms. Later, when I entered a world that was far bigger than the community in which I lived (or the part of it that was strongly influenced by my father) I found a different reality – in which I had to push to get ahead, assert my exceptionalism, and enter into ‘survival of the fittest’ mode. When I eventually got my degree and accessed opportunities that many with whom I grew up did not, I struggled with what is now called ’survivor’s guilt’.
The task of processing and coming to terms with my guilt was placed on my shoulders solely and, at the time, I did not have the language or wisdom to understand and name what I was grappling with. Over time, as I encountered and engaged with feminist politics, I found a language that critiqued this overarching ideology. I realised that my father’s foundational approach reinforced in me our interdependence and a belief that wellbeing is dependent on the support, sense of connection and groundedness that individuals get from being part of a community.
Neoliberal capitalism reinforces the individual highlighting exceptionalism measured according to its own standards. Within this paradigm those who don’t conform to its conventions or live up to its standards, often face the resulting fallout in isolation). Their confusion, anxiety, grief, anger, despair, feelings of helplessness, and the sense that they are not measuring up and that getting ahead is impossible are often kept private rather than shared and supported.
What my father was doing as an indistinguishable part of his practice was what others now term generosity. What I experienced through my father, and later replicated in the ways I live my life and my activism, is what South Africans term ubuntu, which is acting in ways that benefit the collective/community. Such acts could be as simple as helping a stranger in need or apparent in more complex ways of relating to others.
Problematising generosity
According to the Collins dictionary, generosity refers to doing or giving more than is usual or expected. However, in the current economic paradigm, forming part of a white supremacist narrative, generosity is often portrayed as a modern, apolitical, private, middle-class ideal with those holding privilege ‘making up’ for that privilege by being a generous benefactor of those whom the system treats unjustly. This system recognises as generosity the big gestures that involve moving money through initiatives that are trying to band-aid and “help” others, particularly those who are affected by unjust systems – ranging from colonialism to systemic racism to misogyny, homophobia, transphobia and more.
However, in these discourses, alternative narratives that include the everyday actions, decisions and behaviours of radical generosity are often ignored. Research in South Africa shows that in their everyday realities, South Africans contribute to social causes across race, age and urban and rural locations in forms that include cash, goods and time. What this highlights is that generosity is a way of being within communities that are often considered to be economically vulnerable and under-resourced. Like my father, these communities consider generosity as an act of solidarity based on their sense of being part of a collective and individuals help one another as part of building collective wellbeing.
The commodification of generosity as an act of exceptionalism – within reach only of those with economic, social or psychological resources – dismisses the many ways in which communities have historically coexisted and supported their shared humanity. Indeed, it narrows generosity down to individual actions rather than collectivising the multiple ways in which we are connected and contribute to each other’s personal and collective wellbeing. A political framing of generosity as solidarity recognises the interplay between power, privilege and agency as a practice of navigating systemic inequalities. It recognises that we are part of something larger than ourselves and that we are all interdependent.
From my father’s example, the micro level in which generosity lives is about sharing what you have with others in ways that go beyond the sharing of personal possessions and include skills and knowledge. At the community or collective level, it is an acknowledgement that everyone has something to give and includes a willingness to support each other to meet our needs. We saw examples of this during COVID-19 when communities stepped in to support one another when other systems failed to do so. Solidarity as opposed to generosity is a belief, a value system, a choice and a practice. It creates inner shifts and possibilities that disrupt narratives of scarcity and sees beyond our own experiences, without taking away from our ability to sustain our own lives and wellbeing. As with COVID-19, I saw how, in those moments when my father was unable to do things for himself physically or materially, people would show up at our door, offering to do simple things that made a big difference in our lives. This reinforced in me the importance of reaffirming my connectedness rather than my separateness from
Three Ways to reignite solidarity (as generosity) in our lives
#1: Listen and connect to those closest to you.
The best place to start with solidarity is to connect with those closest to you. Find out more about what they are experiencing and how they may be struggling. Listening does not mean ‘fixing’ or ‘helping’. Sometimes just listening is a powerful act of solidarity and a generous offering of time and energy. If in listening, you can follow up with support by linking them to resources such as people or information, that is a bonus.
#2: Give of yourself in ways that feel embodied.
The act of giving without feeling connected reinforces separation not connection. The most profound form of generosity is our presence and embodied engagement with people wherever we are. Whatever community you are part of, start by slowing down to be able to show up. this space when you’ve brought the fullness of yourself, you find openings and spaces where you can share knowledge, skills, or even just your time as a form of solidarity.
#3: Develop your own solidarity practice.
Solidarity should not be practised in isolation but connected to the needs and values of those with whom we share community. However, if you want to build a practice of solidarity, do so in a way that becomes part of how you exist in the world. Such a practice could include:
- Sharing knowledge, skills, drive and ability to grow something together
- Sharing material resources regularly
- Giving encouragement, insight, time, networks or buying power.
One’s solidarity practice should support community building and be an affirmation that we are part of something bigger than ourselves, that our well-being is inextricably linked to others, and that only together do we stand a chance of disrupting the dominant system.
Signs Your Inner Activist is Calling: How to use your internal Guides to achieve balance and wellbeing
Sometimes we pursue a life “saving” others, and experience disconnection and discontentment as a result. This can be an indication of being disconnected from one’s inner activist.
The focus on the ‘outer’ world has in most of our cases led to a repression and denial of our innate qualities of creativity, intuition, nurturing, strength and wisdom. It is important to acknowledge that every single person has an inner activist that has your ‘greater’ interests at heart. When activated, the inner activist can speak up over the chorus of negative beliefs and attitudes that lead to habits and behaviours that create the reality you experience today.
