Reflections on the Black Freedom Struggle and My Vietnamese American Story

August is Black Philanthropy month.?It should mark a significant time of reflection not only for professionals and philanthropists in the Black community but for all communities across the sectors.

As an American-born Vietnamese philanthropic professional, I reflect on the contributions by not only Black philanthropic leaders of high net-worth but also our Black Liberation movement leaders of the last centuries.?Black communities, up and down the socio-economic class ladder, have historically paved way for a stronger democratic society.

I invite philanthropists and philanthropic professionals alike to re-think what philanthropy could mean within the context of the Black freedom struggle, which has inspired a constellation of movements for social change.?Let us reimagine what philanthropy encompasses, beyond conceptions of capital and charitable activities, such as grants and tax vehicles.

Our Black Liberation movement leaders, who I view as, too, philanthropists, have truly demonstrated the continuum between charity and solidarity.?Historically, Black America, at large, has acted as our nation’s conscience for a stronger democracy to be more representative of an expanded base of community interests.?For instance, Black leadership for equality and justice has significantly influenced, whether directly or indirectly, the struggles of those who have not traditionally had political power or access to financial capital: the working-class (whether white or BIPOC), women, queer and trans people, and immigrants and refugees.

According to scholars Bill V. Mullen and Chris Vials, they have written about the importance of Black radical politics and organizing that have prevented the realization of fascism in the United States.?Unlike Western nations such as Germany and Italy, the U.S. fortunately did not succumb to fascism during the 20th century.?This is because of Black America’s leadership having made the case that “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice,” which Martin Luther King Jr. still reminds us to this day.?

As a result, throughout the decades following the ‘60s movements, the U.S. has witnessed growth in stronger safety-nets and protections for the most vulnerable by the state and nonprofit agencies.?The fight for equality, justice, and human and civil rights have led to a healthier infrastructure that cares for the most underserved, thereby strengthening our civil society within our democracy.?In this context, cross-racial solidarity and movement work has historically been run by grassroots leaders and volunteers– or the non-monetary philanthropists—who envisioned not only a more just and equitable world for Black America, but for all of humanity.

My Vietnamese American Story

As I reflect on this legacy of Black philanthropy and activism, I speak from my own Vietnamese American story.?In Vietnam, my family for generations had existed in the small city of Thot Not in the Can Tho province, bordering the Mekong Delta that supported the fruitful agricultural production enjoyed by the region.?There, they manifested the very entrepreneurial spirit that has been central to American values.?And they built wealth over time through the purchase of land, establishment of small businesses, and their own philanthropic efforts, such as pooling financial resources to support local community development.

After the end of the Vietnam War in 1975, most, if not all, their assets were seized by the state – with exception of the gold nuggets they hid, buried in their backyard, to be exchanged for their ticket out of the country. At that juncture, my family decided to migrate: my mother, father, grandmother, and two older brothers – and my third oldest brother later was born at the Bidong refugee camp in Malaysia.?They took the risk to depart as refugees from their hometown, their country, of which they were a part.?Instead, they were torn from all who they called family rooted in the region.?

In the early ‘80s, my family enter through the Port of Oakland and resettled in East Palo Alto, California, Silicon Valley’s then heart of the Black community.?In East Palo Alto, the Black population has significantly declined: from 60% of the city in 1980 to less than 2% in 2020.?Similarly, in Oakland, where I reside now, the Black population has dropped by more than half, making up now 20% in 2020 from almost half of the city in 1980.?

During their resettlement, my family greatly benefited from the very government and nonprofit programs, for which Black leaders during the ‘60’s Civil Rights and Black Movements had fought tirelessly.?Benefiting from this legacy and material progress, my family was able to re-build their wealth.?They had the opportunity to, once again, purchase property, secure stable employment, and establish a small business, as well as send my three brothers and me to California’s public universities to receive tuition-free higher education.

Today, my family does not necessarily practice “kitchen table philanthropy,” unlike what many wealthy white families practice.?Instead, my family practices “under the table” philanthropy, focused on supporting the family collective across borders, in the form of remittances to relatives still rooted in the region, once home for my family over four decades ago.?For instance, upon celebrating any milestones of relatives abroad, living or deceased, my mother and father would remit funds to support family activities related to ancestral worship, inter-generational education, and economic development in the rural areas, in which my ancestors are buried.?Like Black grassroots leaders having dedicated their lives as volunteers for movement organizations, the philanthropy of my family and leaders here may be not recognized as tax-deductible contributions in the eyes of our sector.?But to me, in my eyes, this is what philanthropy looks like.

In addition, what Black Liberation movement leaders have taught my family and me is the power of our collective resiliency in the face of any forms of violence, whether it is by war, the state, or our economic system.?Likewise, what they have contributed to us is the public and nonprofit infrastructure, a result of a cross-racial solidarity movement work, from which we have greatly benefited.?It has truly supported not only my family’s material success in this country, but also our inclusion in our multi-racial democracy, which I have dedicated to advancing in my public service career.

At the height of the Great Recession, I graduated from UC Berkeley and entered the workforce struggling to secure stable, full-time employment.?Simultaneously, I supported my mother and father by negotiating with the banks, as our home – like many American homes during that period – was on the brink of foreclosure.?Fortunately, however, our home was saved by federal programs under President Obama.?

At the crossroads transitioning from student to professional, I realized the need to not only correct failures but work to change our economic system.?So, I sought opportunities where I could build upon my civic leadership.?As a result, I was able to find my “civic home” in the labor movement in San Jose, California, the heart of Silicon Valley, where I was born and raised. In particular, I worked at Working Partnerships USA and the South Bay Labor Council.?

At these organizations, I started as a canvasser, organizer, and then fundraiser for nonprofit and political causes.?Through this experience, I learned the value of coalition-building among not only among BIPOC workers but also with white workers.?Together, we were able to pass local policies that supported the multicultural interests of working families and BIPOC communities, mobilizing voters to elect officials from our communities who represent our shared interests, and win collective bargaining agreements.

Oftentimes, I was the only Asian American organizer around the table.?So, I would often feel surface-level discomfort organizing with non-Asian workers identifying as Black, Latinx, and white.?Fresh out of college, I realized the importance of bridging between the theory learned in school and the practice developed in the field.?I realized, for instance, that I could not possibly expect working-class people to be “woke,” using the same language I developed through the university.?Simply put, I learned how to navigate everyday people, everyday language, and everyday conflicts.?

Through this experience, I increasingly became more conscious as a practitioner of leveraging the power of us; that we are stronger together, in solidarity, as part of a unified front – not apart.?Historically, many employers’ own self-interest within the context of a diverse workforce since the 19th century was to capitalize on divisions of identities, such as race, to undermine labor organizing that cut into their profits.?Toward the end of my tenure, I fundraised enough charitable capital to launch a cross-racial and cross-sector coalition, Silicon Valley Rising. It supported the successful unionization of contract workers, particularly bus drivers, at Facebook in 2015.?It also set the stage for more subsequent labor victories, especially in the tech sector, including victories we are witnessing to this day across the country.

After several years in organized labor, as well as nonprofit fundraising, I decided to pivot into the philanthropic sector, where I realized that I needed to contribute my experience and skills fighting on behalf workers - but with the philanthropists, the owners, against whom my cadres would protest in pursuit of better working conditions and wages.?My intention thus has been to advise wealthy families, corporations, and private foundations in both dialogue and organized action within a paradoxical space, which Malcolm X would today call “a burning house.”?I have sought to embody what I have learned historically from Black philanthropy and activism, as well as my experience in Silicon Valley’s labor movement.?To this day, Martin Luther King Jr.’s insight on “burning house” of philanthropy runs deep:

“Philanthropy is commendable, but it must not cause the philanthropist to overlook the circumstances of economic injustice which make philanthropy necessary.” – Martin Luther King Jr.,??

Certainly, I often “hydrate” my philanthropic advising practice with such values and vision, working with my clients for them to effectively – and equitably – engage most impacted communities to change the fundamental inequality of our economic system.?Historically, let us not forget that a large reason the Nazi Party was successful in seizing power in Germany in the 1930s, was their successful engagement of a neglected base that also could include the wider reach of middle-class and high-net worth families as well as the owners of private enterprises. Together, ?they joined in the cause to make “Germany Great Again.”?It is precisely my civic duty in my professional capacity to build a base that will defend and expand an inclusive democracy.

Today’s Fight to Build Upon the Legacy of Black Liberation

Today, we are witnessing in the U.S. severe backlashes against the rights of the working-class (whether white or BIPOC), women, queer and trans people, and immigrants and refugees.?The global pandemic has re-ignited anti-Asian sentiment, where Asian ethnic enclaves are under attack across the country.?Economically, there is the fear that we may be entering another economic downturn, like that of the Great Recession, if not worse like that of the Great Depression. Galvanized far-right groups throughout the U.S. are committed to reverse the social progress we have made, including the recent win by the religious Right to overturn Roe V. Wade, thereby imposing more regulations on women’s bodies.

Many groups that represent the “New Right” are working-class white men proudly proclaiming white supremacy because they feel that they have been forgotten by the system.?They have witnessed many of their jobs offshored to Asia, Latin America, and Africa and the trend of corporate owners increasingly prioritizing a more diverse workforce and workplace culture.?As a result, many of them strive to initiate a “race war,” with the false conception that they – and the American culture – are being replaced by non-white people, including foreigners of color. These groups, including far-right intellectuals, hold the conviction that the U.S. should return to a fantasy past era for it to maintain U.S., if not Western civilization’s, global dominance. ??

On the economic justice front, however, the Labor Movement has achieved several victories nationally, such as unionization at Starbucks, Amazon, and Trader Joe’s.?Certainly, this has set positive precedent for the AFL-CIO, increasing union density, and a growing consciousness of workers, across racial lines, employed in the service and tech industries.?That said, on the heels of such victories between labor versus capital, wealth concentration of the richest 0.00001% has exceeded that of the Gilded Age.

Amidst both simultaneous backlash and progress, I have recognized, through my values and experiences, the increasing importance of solidarity – not just semantics – more than ever before, like what our Black leaders have called for.?Let us remember, for instance, Fred Hampton, the Chairman of Illinois’ chapter of the Black Panther Party, who called for cross-racial solidarity and working-class unity, especially between working-class BIPOC and white communities:

“We don’t think you fight fire with fire best; we think you fight fire with water best. We’re going to fight racism not with racism, but we’re going to fight with solidarity.”

– Fred Hampton

By contrast, what I have witnessed in our growing movements for racial justice and equity is often the omission of an intention toward a unified front.?This applies to what I have seen in spaces whose intentions focus on Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI), a growing field and funding stream, in large part a result of 2020 summer racial justice uprising, the largest protest movement in U.S. history.

Likewise, I am recognizing the importance of organizations – not simply oration or obsession with language – as a basis for community organizing, more than ever before.?Let us recognize the leadership of Alicia Garza, co-founder of the Black Lives Matter movement, who emphasized the importance of building a base beyond our “lookalikes”:

“We can’t be afraid to establish a base that is larger than the people we feel comfortable with. Movements and bases cannot be cliques of people who already know each other. We have to reach beyond the choir and take seriously the task of organizing the unorganized—the people who don’t already speak the same language, the people who don’t eat, sleep and breathe social justice, the people who have everything at stake and are looking to be less isolated and more connected and who want to win changes in their lives and the lives of the people they love.”

– Alicia Garza, The Purpose of Power: How We Come Together When We Fall Apart

Where We Go from Here: From Charity to Solidarity?

In the philanthropic sector, the notion of giving, especially at the institutional level, has been understood as an act reserved for an exclusive group: wealthy individuals and families, corporations, and grantmaking foundation entities in contributing their surplus, without expecting a return on their charitable investment.

What I have learned from my own family history and the history of Black Liberation is that philanthropy runs deep in our cultural traditions, economic survival, and social movements that advance the humanity of all, regardless of your wealth status.

If philanthropy has been understood as “the love for humankind,” I believe that in the 21st century we could build community leadership and organizations that create conditions for “humankind to love more.”?The heart of this work requires us to go beyond the traditional notions of charity.?Rather, in the spirit of the Black radical tradition, we must act in solidarity with the most impacted communities.?

We must reimagine, support, and build the movements whose bases of actors transcend divisions of race, class, gender, and sexual identity through coalition-building where we recognize both self and collective interests.?We must work to build organizations that educate and empower our communities, “calling in” – rather than “calling out” – those who might be curious or on the fence about the issue.?

We must unite across various fronts to combat what is the increasing threat of anti-democratic actors?and white supremacy in not only our country’s current civic fabric but also political conscience for what can or should be the future. And we must trust and uplift those most impacted by injustice to be at the table and self-determine their futures.?In the legacy of Black philanthropy and activism, I believe that, together, we can make humankind love more.?