The 1970s were bad for philanthropy. According to John W. Barry, Philanthropy magazine contributing editor, “After growing at a rate of more than five percent from 1955 to 1965, charitable giving slowed to half that in the period from 1965 to 1975 (and slowly sped up again after 1975).”
Hard times be damned, Disco embraced capitalism, hedonism, and just plain fun—and managed to be just about everything Punk was not: pop tunes for the often glittery masses, easier on the ears, and simple to dance to (who could ever forget the hustle). Toward the early 1980s Disco's appeal began to implode, generating anti-disco protests, like the Disco Demolition Night in Chicago, July 1979. Missed that one—I was waiting to be born and wishing I was seeing the Ramones. The thing is, philanthropy is a lot like disco. It’s got a good beat if you know how to dance to it, but fundamentally it has a limited shelf life. In the eyes—and, importantly, ears—of a dedicated Sex Pistols fan (Never Mind the Bollocks, mate), Disco represents everything wrong. And like disco, philanthropy leaves me wanting.
Traditional models of giving, even foreign aid, still have their place in the world but their use is extremely limited. Replacing the old models is social entrepreneurship. A few of these entrepreneurs I call philanthropunks.
Philanthropunks embody, quite literally, the most positive aspects of Punk ethos: a do it yourself mindset (DIY); a fierce disregard of accepted tradition; collaboration; tireless observation of a grim world that yet vibrant with potential.
Who can say that is a bad thing? And they have their own soundtrack. True, DIY predates punk, but it is absolutely integral to the punk ethos, and it is absolutely integral to entrepreneurs taking on large-scale social problems. Of course, mountains of pages have chronicled--for good or ill--punk's jarring, irreverent, cranked-to-11 influence on post- (and post-post) modern culture, in ways larger far than most realize. Since then, and the acceptance and commodification of punk (tattooing, body modification, fashion), the size of some of the challenges facing us today is enormous—almost a billion people without access to clean drinking water, one billion people who cannot read, rising unemployment particularly for young people, and over 2.5 billion people without access to a toilet. These challenges require a punk rock mindest. We can’t wait to train to become experts before we start taking on these problems. In many cases, like sanitation or water, making progress solving these challenges is a matter of life and death for millions of people every day. We cannot be afraid of the immensity or complexity of these challenges either. Hence, the Philanthropunks, the DIY culture, and the renegade spirit.
Shake a few solid trees and you'll find "punks" of all ages, many of whom survived early excess, absorbing the hard truth of the mosh pit (you're gonna get your ass kicked taking on massive social challenges). But the main lesson--wisdom gained through suffering--sustains a trench-warfare sensibility. One of collaboration and survival—no matter what.
This, above all, defines Philanthropunk. Damn the cliche, but we're in this together.
Let's name names. We've got Yael Cohen, founder of Fuck Cancer. Her mother got sick with cancer, so Yael rejected cancer. She fought back and started her own NGO and is now mobilizing millions of courageous teenagers across North America to have early prevention conversations with their parents. She also trains in mixed martial arts so don't mess with this one. Then there is Deborah Basset, environmental activist and supporter of Sea Shepherd, an international NGO that hunts down whaling vessels with its very own navy. Leila Janah, a social entrepreneur who employs an army of women and youth living in poverty, believes in her work so much she tattooed the name of her organization, Sama, on her arm. Then there is Sugata Mitra, recent winner of the 2013 TED Prize, whose serious doubting of modern education drove him to provide computers to kids struggling in slums to let them teach themselves.
Many more dedicate their lives, but these philanthropunks stand out.
The music world, corporate radio aside, is cranked to 11. Among the younger is Amanda Palmer, apparently fearlessly giving her music away. And the much-tormented Pussy Riot, sentenced to two years in prison, has even Elmira Abdrazakova (Miss Russia) protesting, to no avail. So much for Putin's kinder, gentler Russia. And let's not forget the ever-scowling, needs-no-introduction Henry Rollins, whose self-published books document the beyond-harsh realities of life on the road—and, these days, everywhere. I'm not sure humble is the appropriate word, but Rollins has a very active hand in fighting for dignity by providing clean water and sanitation to the poor through NGO Drop-in-the-bucket.
Put simply, the Punk ethos is alive--and giving a damn where it matters.
Be a renegade. Don't fear the mosh pit. Collaborate and embrace DIY. God save the Philanthropunks.
