The market economy story has spread like wildfire, with uneven results for human well-being and devastation for the natural world. - Robin Wall Kimmerer
This week I read The Generosity Crisis and, while I could share my take on the authors’ belief in techno-solutionism1, I will start instead with what appears to be a greater faith in the marketplace than the sector for which they claim to be advocates. As I read, it kept occurring to me that the authors were unwilling to differentiate between a commodity and a gift while forgetting that it’s the latter that is in short supply. Authors Chappell, Crimmins, and Ashley have convinced themselves that the lines between our sector and the marketplace have been so blurred that there’s no reason to clear it up. It’s no wonder so many of us see the donor and consumer as one and the same when those promising us solutions don’t want to see it any other way.2
If deliberately choosing to overlook the differences between a commodity and a gift was intentional on their part, I get it. I confess that it was a difficult pair of concepts for me to get my head wrapped around. While I have come to see that our inability to grasp these differences is one of the primary reasons why fundraising lets so many of us down, I’m by no means a trained anthropologist who has been making sense of this kind of stuff since college. That said, having figured out where the confusion lies, I know how to draw solid lines between the two and, despite how easy it might be, I’m not going to capitalize on the confusion that may remain for some of us.
To be fair, the authors of The Generosity Crisis aren’t the first to take advantage of our confusion. These blurry lines are the consequence of what it means to live in a market-driven society where we’re not given the option of alternative roles to play. We’re taught how to be either producers or consumers in a plot that centers on nothing other than the buying and selling of commodities. These roles have their upsides, and those who are given the privilege of playing both will tolerate the downsides. The trouble is, when we’re unclear which role it is we’re playing, chances are it’s neither: we’re just a prop, the commodity itself.
Despite the fact that all of us, in some way or another, have become the commodity that someone else is selling, there are reasons why we’ve become so tolerant of this story. Committing oneself to a relationship with a commodity is easy; whereas committing to a relationship with a human being can be extremely difficult, especially if those we’re expected to have relationships with don't share our values or see the world the same way that we do. Whether commodification happens to our cause, our donors, or even ourselves, we’ve all learned how to put up with it because it makes our jobs easier. Or does it?
Author Robin Wall Kimmerer explains that, during the Enlightenment, a new story emerged: what she refers to as the market economy story - “a social construct in which everything is a commodity to be bought and sold. The market economy story has spread like wildfire, with uneven results for human well-being and devastation for the natural world. But it is just a story we have told ourselves and we are free to tell another, to reclaim the old one.”3
Kimmerer is among those who are pushing back on the story in which Chappell, et al are so invested. She explains that so many of us have grown weary of the market economy story and that there is a great longing to live again in a world made of gifts. Kimmerer wants us to understand that transitioning is a choice; however, it’s not an easy one. Like David Foster Wallace’s two oblivious fish, most of us aren’t even aware of how pervasive this story really is.
It might not be obvious to the authors of The Generosity Crisis how stuck their interpretations of the problem and their proposed solutions are in the market economy story. To use their oft-repeated examples, when my Tesla, my Patagonia jacket, or my Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream cone lets me down, I get rid of them and find another. This is how the commodity story works. This is how contemporary fundraising works as well. When we commodify everything, no one has hard feelings about throwing something out; and the producers are more than happy to sell us something else in its place.
What’s missing from our accounting of the market economy story is that, instead of forming meaningful relationships with other human beings, we form relationships with things, objects, or whatever it is we’re reaching for off the shelf. And, as Chappell, et al appreciate, the producers of these commodities have a way of assigning human-like characteristics to such things so that we’re more inclined to buy them, to form a “radical connection” with them, and to develop an affinity for them in much the same way we would a friend or loved one.
The wizards of the marketplace know that by assigning values to commodities no one is ever held accountable for delivering on them. Commodities don’t have values; people do. Unlike the supposed values Chappell, et al would like me to believe that my iPhone has, it’s the human beings at Apple who have to demonstrate that someone actually has them. Commodities that we think are delivering on values are nothing more than a manipulative marketing tactic, a reenactment of Bernay’s employing his Uncle Sigi in order to sell cigarettes to the masses.4
What the authors of The Generosity Crisis have overlooked is that, no matter how impressed and satisfied they might be, our donors aren’t looking for more marketplace experiences. Rather than being confined to our society’s dominant story, our sector is one of those unique places where we can experience an alternative story - one that’s messy, complex and doesn’t guarantee us that the “customer is always right.” The story that Chappell, et al have aligned themselves with assumes that the donor and consumer are one and the same; commodifies our cause; and, rather than a place for meaning, purpose, and inspiration, assumes that we’re in another highly competitive marketplace.
The Generosity Crisis proves that the nonprofit sector is stuck in what historian Natalie Zemon Davis refers to as “sales mode.” For those of us who are able to remove our “market blinders,” Davis explains that we can open ourselves up to a new way of relating to others - what she refers to as “gift mode.” This distinct way of relating to others affords those on both sides of an exchange a meaningful alternative to the commodity story. Not only does it afford us the opportunity to be a part of a different story, it also offers a different language and a place to interact in accordance with different norms; it ultimately transforms the way we think about ourselves, others, and our money and possessions.5
Whenever and wherever we find generosity and gratitude to be lacking, it is not in the marketplace that we should go looking for our fix; it is by learning how to live in gift mode with others that we will find our solution.
If your organization wants to understand how to raise extraordinary levels of support by way of meaningful relationships and higher expectations, our team at Responsive would welcome the opportunity to help you do that. If you’re interested in learning more, email me and/or our managing partner, Michael Dixon. We will be happy to volunteer an hour to get to know you and to explore with you what a partnership with our team might look like.
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Morozov, E. (2013). To Save Everything, Click Here: The Folly of Technological Solutionism. United States: PublicAffairs.
Crimmins, B., Chappell, N., Ashley, M. (2022). The Generosity Crisis: The Case for Radical Connection to Solve Humanity's Greatest Challenges. United Kingdom: Wiley.
Kimmerer, R. W. (2013). Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teachings of Plants. United States: Milkweed Editions.
Tye, L. (2002). The Father of Spin: Edward L. Bernays and the Birth of Public Relations. United States: Picador.
Davis, N. Z. (2000). The Gift in Sixteenth-century France. United Kingdom: University of Wisconsin Press.