A friend of a friend had his car break down, and he could not get to work. The next day, there was a gofundme account set up to help with the unexpected expense.A friend had massive migraines, and the docs said surgery was needed. The deductible was massive, but a couple of motivated friends got the word out, and dozens of people who had never met face-to-face were donating money to cover the cost.
A friend had a movie that she wanted to make. Her kickstarter campaign provided backers with the chance to join in on the fun, get updates on the show, get the opportunity to download the final version, and for a certain level of investment, be allowed to attend the opening of the film. (I seem to remember that you could even have your name included in the script).
A number of my friends in my new hometown shared information about a family in town whose house had burned. Suddenly, people across the area - and beyond - are looking through their closets to find clothes for the five children, and figuring out how to help with replacement housing, bedding, dishes, furniture, and, well, everything.
I looked down the list for each one, and found that many of the donors were anonymous. This was clearly not the equivalent of putting a wealthy family's name on over the door at the local medical center. It is something different. Furthermore, the people who did announce their donations were a bit of a surprise. They were not 1% family members. For the most part, the donors were friends living under tremendous financial strain themselves, with low-paying jobs in places with a high cost of living. And giving anyway.
Giving generously.
In 1968, there was a group of anthropologists led by Evon Vogt in Chiapas, Mexico. They were doing research on how small communities make their living: what the different spheres of life were and how they were intertwined. Investigations touched on religion, work, family, life cycles, seasons, and how the universe is ordered.
One of Vogt's students looked specifically at how the community dealt with risk, and observed that money was pooled within the community to help people who had need. The money was considered a loan, rather than a gift, and the debt had to be paid back at the time of the next crisis. The payback, as observed. did not conform to any traditional Western social rules of debt and repayment.
The student decided to give it a try, and for his next field season, bought a one-way ticket down to Chiapas, and then brought enough money to buy the return flight.
Once he was down in the village, he did what he had observed. Every time someone had a need, and asked him for a loan, he gave it to them. He lived in the village, did his research, embedded himself in the work and politics of the village, and when it came time to go back to the US, he asked the villagers who had received loans to help him (and his wife) get back. He got exactly the amount he needed to buy the ticket.
The story really stuck with me. At the time, I thought of how very strange it was. How foreign, how quintessentially 'other', to have a community that shared the risks by a series of debt relationships, and helping one another out when in need.
Growing up, I had learned that these risk management measures were the job of family.
I grew up in a pretty tight-knit family. Other than my uncle Johnny, who left SC for Arizona, everybody in my family lived either in/around Greenville or in/around Beaufort. I had family ties, places to stay, couches on which to crash everywhere I turned. There were stories - many of which were probably apocryphal - of personal/legal/financial troubles that were staved off by using family connections. The lesson - and one that I learned well - was you could go to family whenever you were in a pinch, and you could rely on them to help bail you out.
Now, however, my family is flung everywhere. Any friends I had when I was growing up have all moved, some of them many times. Military. Job postings. Grad schools and professorships. So what is the basis of the community that I relied on?
I am also a new kid in a small town. I love Vicksburg, and am building friendships here with people that I have already grown to love. But inserting myself into a tight-knit community in a small town is kinda tough.
Where is my community now? Where is the place that I can turn to for help? Where can people turn to for me to help?
I am beginning to realize that the online community has started to function in some ways like the small community in Zinacantan. Debts are accrued and paid as people have needs. It is not important, really, whether we have ever met face to face. You are a friend of Ben's, and he shared your need with us on a public forum, I will help a little, because of my love for Ben. I will donate some money to Molly's 150-mile MS ride. I will make a donation to the Southern Poverty Law Center because of my love for Suz. I will help.
And y'all will help me. I will pass along my concerns, and y'all donate to my causes, too. I mean, I am not asking for booze money. (Even if I did, I suspect that some of you would help pay down my bar tab - worthy cause that it is). But we help one another, even sometimes when we don't agree - politically, socially, and ethically.
I suspect part of the desire to help people on social media is a change in the way we do charitable giving. My faith in agencies and institutions has dropped, and I tend to investigate overhead rates before I donate money to any cause. But if your friend needs help because there was a death in the family and they don't have money for the funeral? I might be able to help. Maybe not a lot. But some. Crowdsourcing the solutions to problems - be they big or small - brings my community closer together.
We are making our own communities; some of which include, but which is not limited to, our families of origin. We love and trust one another, and care for one another when the chips are down.
And when I am in need, I might just come back to you. So that I can get my plane ticket home.
