Giving On Purpose

Let's get back to our purpose.

From Us — A Message from the Black American Community on Giving and Purpose

We speak as a people shaped by endurance, creativity, and care. For generations, our survival depended less on what individuals could amass and more on what we could give to one another: time, food, knowledge, protection, prayer, and space to breathe. “It’s better to give than receive” wasn’t just advice — it was a system that kept kin fed, kids safe, and stories alive.

Somewhere along the way, that system started to fray. This is us naming what happened, feeling it, and inviting us back to what we were built to do together.

What giving looked like for us — practical, sacred, everyday

We shared because sharing saved us. Neighbors babysat without asking for payment. Churches and barbershops were anchors — places where resources, referrals, and second chances circulated. When one family hit hard times, the block showed up. When somebody had wisdom, they taught it freely. Giving lived in the mundane: casseroles after funerals, carpool rotations, pooling money for school supplies, mentoring in basements and barber chairs.

Giving was not merely charity. It was a communal exchange that preserved dignity and continuity.

Why we drifted — forces that pulled us inward

We didn’t abandon each other because we became selfish overnight. Systems and conditions pushed us that way.

Economic strain: With wages flat and costs up, many of us learned that holding on tightly to what we have is the only way to survive.

Cultural pressure: The broader culture measures worth by possessions and status. That script leaks into our neighborhoods and rewrites our priorities.

Trauma and mistrust: Decades of being underserved teach a scarcity mindset — better to hoard than to risk being left with nothing.

Performative giving: Sometimes giving becomes a display, assessed by likes and headlines instead of actual impact.

Changing social structures: Extended-family living and neighborhood ties loosened with migration, gentrification, and work demands.

All these things make generosity harder, but not impossible.

Why returning to giving matters — for our survival and soul

We believe generosity is not just moral language — it is strategy.

Resilience: When we share resources and skills, we build buffers against economic shocks and institutional neglect.

Identity: Giving keeps our stories, rituals, and knowledge moving across generations.

Health: Being connected lowers stress and combats loneliness. Giving creates those connections.

Collective power: Shared investment in institutions and neighbors multiplies our influence — politically, economically, socially.

Giving is how we create a future that’s ours instead of one imposed on us.

Where to begin — small, sustainable practices we can all do

We don’t need grand gestures. The most transformative acts are regular and rooted in relationships.

Give time: Mentor a young person, sit with an elder, help a neighbor. Time costs nothing but says everything.

Share skills: Host a cookout with a skill-share: resume help, budgeting basics, or how to start a side hustle.

Form mutual aid circles: Five people pooling small amounts monthly can cover emergencies and build trust.

Support Black institutions: Put your dollars and attention toward Black-owned businesses, community centers, and arts.

Pass down culture: Teach recipes, songs, stories. Record oral histories. These are gifts that outlive cash.

Practice bounded generosity: Give without burning out. Set limits so your generosity lasts.

Model it publicly: Let our kids see giving in action — not as sacrifice alone, but as a proud, powerful way to live.

Reframing strength — generosity as courage, not weakness

We must change the narrative about what makes a man, a woman, a leader. Generosity is brave. It takes emotional maturity to be generous when you’ve been hurt. It takes strategy to open your hand when scarcity whispers otherwise. Teaching our sons and daughters that giving is a form of leadership will rebuild an ethic where strength and care go together.

Stories that teach — ordinary generosity, extraordinary outcomes

We know these stories because they are everywhere in our neighborhoods:

A barber who offers free haircuts and life advice to teenage boys on Saturdays — keeping them engaged and accountable.

A tenant group that pools a little cash each month so anyone facing eviction gets a chance to breathe and plan.

A grandmother who opens her kitchen to the whole block for Thanksgiving, teaching children the recipes and the reasons.

These acts don’t make headlines. They make futures.

Reclaiming reciprocity — how to receive with dignity, too

Giving is reciprocal. We were taught to receive with pride when offered help — to let the community hold us. Relearning to accept help without shame restores balance and keeps the care flow alive.

A call from the community — concrete steps, right now

If you’re trying to act on this today, here are simple moves:

1. Pick one neighbor or young person to mentor this month. Show up twice.

2. Start or join a $10–$25 monthly mutual aid group of five people.

3. Volunteer 2–4 hours monthly at a local school, shelter, or community program.

4. Share one skill publicly — a workshop, a social post, a block meeting.

5. If you have the means, make a small recurring donation to a local Black-led nonprofit.

Consistency beats grandiosity. Small, steady giving rewires how our neighborhoods function.

— Giving is how we remain whole

We remember who we are when we give: resilient, resourceful, and relational. Giving is not a feel-good add-on — it’s how we protect our dignity, build power, and pass on what matters. We are not asking for perfection; we are asking for a return to a practice that has kept us alive for generations.

Let’s start there. Give your time. Share a skill. Open your ear. Invest in the places that hold our stories. Teach the young that generosity is strength. When we give more, we all receive more — not just in things, but in belonging, safety, and the deep, sustaining knowledge that we are each other’s keepers.