Philanthropy and the Heroism(?) of the Ultra-Rich

Giving what you have to people who don't have enough is a form of heroism because most people don't necessarily do it and it can be very helpful. In his small act of philanthropy guided by Grandma, Jack gave a quarter to the "street person" they passed while walking. A quarter does not do very much, but it may help just a little. The problem is, Jack had another quarter that he did not give away. Does that diminish his tiny act of heroism?

George Soros

As we move into the "season of giving", donations and philanthropy are on the minds of many Americans, whether rich, poor, or in between. By some estimates, 40% of personal donations are given during December. This brought to mind the many famous, ultra-wealthy philanthropists that we see in the news so often: Bill and Melinda Gates, George Soros, and Angelina Jolie have all given varying amounts to charity. In general an ultra-high net worth philanthropist gives about $25 million over the course of his or her lifetime, which is usually about 10% of their net worth. Some of the "ultra-ulta-high" net worth philanthropists have given much more. For example, the net worth of Bill and Melinda Gates is $74 billion, and their lifetime giving has come to the staggering total of $28 billion, nearly 40% of their net worth.

The question is, are these philathropists, no matter how much they have given, heroes? Or does that fact that they could give much, much more, and still live with very high standards of luxury, somehow diminish their heroism? And what does that mean for the rest of us?

Bill and Melinda Gates

I'm not trying to blame these philanthropists for being rich, or to suggest that they should have to spend their hard-earned money on charitable causes. Of course, if you worked hard for your own money, you have the right to spend it on whatever you want. But some people are so incredibly rich that they could live very comfortably on a fraction of their wealth, and the rest of the money is essentially useless. To be honest, I think it is impossible for someone to spend $74 billion. Granted, Bill Gates' house cost $63 million to build, and has a 2500 square foot gym, 24 bathrooms, a 23 car garage, a 1000 square foot dining room, and a pool with an underwater music system. His house also holds Leonardo da Vinci's notebook, the Codex Leicester, which cost Gates $30.8 million. So essentially Gates can have whatever he wants. But the thing is, he could have had whatever he wanted even if his net worth was only, say, $25 billion, or even $15 billion. Maybe Gates should consider giving a little more, since he has so much. That would make him even more of a hero.

As philanthropists (for we are all philanthropists in small ways), are obligated to give all that we do not need? Most people would say no. There are no obligations. Any giving is great. But I would say yes. That is an obligation. An excess of money doesn't do us any good, and it could help someone else. Most of us don't have the kind of excess that ultra-high net worth philanthropists do, but it's something to consider.

The Trap of Voyeurism: Did Donoghue Manage to Escape?

Tabloid reportage of the Fritzl case

Emma Donoghue's Room undoubtedly has its basis in the real cases of abduction and imprisonment that are reported in the news every so often. But Donoghue claims that the Fritzl case served merely as inspiration for her book, not as a guiding influence over the story: "To say Room is based on the Fritzl case is too strong. I'd say it was triggered by it. The newspaper reports of Felix Fritzl [Elisabeth's son], aged five, emerging into a world he didn't know about, put the idea into my head. That notion of the wide-eyed child emerging into the world like a Martian coming to Earth: it seized
me."

This made me feel better about the book. Thinking that it was based off one particular story, whether it was the case of Elisabeth Fritzl, the Ariel Castro kidnappings (three women were victims in this case: Amanda Berry, Gina DeJesus, and Michelle Knight), or one of the other well publicized kidnappings that have occured over the last fifty years, was somehow not right. It seemed to go against the main message of the book.

From the portrayal of the vulture-like press in Room, coming to take candid shots of Jack and Ma while they were not expecting it at the clinic or sending a helicopter to get photos, it is clear that the press has no right to sensationalize Ma and Jack's story. People read about the case rabidly, so interested that Jack cannot be called loudly by his own name in public places. When he is recognized by the workers in the mall, they ask for his autograph--Jack becomes famous.

Had Donoghue's book been about the Fritzl case, or about any other real-life case, she would have faced several problems. First, it is incredibly difficult to write any real person's story accurately, and such a touchy and emotional topic would have been even harder to handle. More importantly, Donoghue would have become very much like the overly-curious, somewhat morbid readers of the news stories about Ma and Jack. She would have been like the press, scurrying to capitalize on another person's miserable situation, understanding how fascinating the story would be to the public. By writing about it, she would have been sensationalizing it, and the story would not have been as powerful as it is now. Donoghue recognizes this: "I was aware that my novel, by commenting on such situations, would run the risk of falling into those traps of voyeurism, sensationalism and sentimentality...I thought it was rather honester to include discussion of media representation in the novel itself than to cling to the high moral ground by merely avoiding scenes of voyeurism, for instance." For my part, I believe that while Donoghue may not have avoided voyeurism entirely, she did, in the end, do an excellent job of 'protectiong' Ma and Jack's story, of making it more than a tabloid-like thriller.

So, a question: Would it have ruined the story to make it explicitly about the Fritzl case (specifically about the five year old son of Elisabeth Fritzl, Felix) or could that story have been told just as gracefully?