Sarah is working this summer at The Sadie Nash Leadership Project, which was founded in 2001 to promote leadership and activism among young women. The program is designed to strengthen, empower, and equip young women as agents for change in their lives and in the world.

My experience with gender socialization growing up in suburbia, CT, centered very much on the idea that I was special. I was smart, beautiful, and I had a good sense of morals – which, according to almost any adult I encountered, made me unique and a step above most of my peers. I think I grew up with the slightly supercilious sense – or at least a sense of forced humility – that I had been handed the perfect package from God, that I was blessed with many gifts and, better yet, I had been groomed to use them for good, not evil. So this made me strikingly different from other youth.

That was the message I received from my parents, my teachers, and my ministers. I was taught that I came from a position of privilege and that I had a duty to help those less fortunate than I. This viewpoint neglected to include any sense of equality, of mutual respect or of reciprocity between the subjects of my benevolent aid and me. It wasn’t until college that I started to question this ideology behind community service.

And that was most definitely the limit to which my work extended: community service. I thought of it only on a localized scale, probably because no one had ever challenged me to look at issues on a systemic level. Not to devalue community service – I still do a fair amount of it and it has certain undeniable benefits to a community – but it neglects to really address the underlying, societal causes. It tries to fix the symptoms rather than cure the illness, if you will. If taken on its own, it is not the kind of activism we need to make real social change. But this wasn’t something I ever considered until I left my safe bubble in the suburbs of Connecticut.

I was also raised with this idea that I was not or could not be a part of a larger movement among other youth to make actual change. I was always taught that I, specifically me, on my own, could do anything I wanted to. I could achieve anything, I was so smart and so talented and so special that nothing would stand in my way. What was missing from the equation was any sense that I needed or could bond together with other people my age to start or contribute to a movement. What ended up happening was a sense of isolation from my peers, as well as a sense of engulfing hopelessness that nothing could ever be changed if it was me against the world.

So I grew up with a vague sense that I was alone in my idealism or in my urgent sense for change. I also lived in a WASPy, wealthy town where talking a lot about societal problems but not doing anything about them was kind of the norm, and I think this contributed to my despair that nothing would or could be done. I wasn’t even sure that other people my age saw the problems in the world that I saw.

Then I got to college. And suddenly my experience was similar to the experiences of other people; in fact, most of my peers were incredibly involved in social movements and were thinking about social justice issues on a level of which I hadn’t even started to consider the existence. It was heartening. My experience at SNLP this summer has similarly led me to realize that I’m not that special (whew! pressure’s off!) and that, in fact, there are more than enough peers for me to work with, to bond with and to collaborate with to promote and further social change.

Avery is working this summer at Legal Momentum, the nation’s oldest legal defense and education fund dedicated to advancing the rights of all women and girls.

I would say that my gender socialization up until this summer has been the perfect example of what Jessica Taft, author of the book Rebel Girls, is opposed to: I was raised to be an “empowered” girl as opposed to an activist.  My family has always been about the “individual,” whether it’s about education, politics, or responsibilities. Even the things they encouraged me to pursue were for my own personal benefit, like when my dad pushed me to run for class president, or when my mom decided I wouldn’t be a cheerleader but would try out for the co-ed basketball team instead. This type of gender socialization was pro-feminist I believe; it defied what you would typically classify as boy’s and girl’s after-school activities. However, this feminist choice stopped when it reached me. I acted in ways that defied gender norms, but never participated in a larger movement. Not that I blame my parents for this. I don’t think they ever considered their influence as “feminist.” They just wanted what was best for their daughter. I’ve never seen it as a negative thing, until I looked at it from Jessica Taft’s perspective. Now I’m questioning how I was raised, how I view the world, and whether these two things have led me to be a pessimistic (and slightly selfish) “individual.”

I was brought up to believe that the world was not a perfect place, and that evil would always exist in it. Coming from a Catholic background, this isn’t an unusual way to look at life. The answer is to go about your business, be kind to others, and give to those in need. Basically, treat the symptoms of the world, but don’t try and cure the disease because that’s just not possible. Evil will always exist. I’m not saying that I now see that it is possible; to be honest, I’m still having a hard time thinking that the social problems in our society can be cured. This outlook assumes that everyone is inherently good, and that poverty and hate exist because our patriarchal and capitalistic system pushed those on the bottom down. I’m not saying this isn’t true. I just have a hard time believing that if we switched to a different system, people would stop pushing others down. I find people to be too self-motivated and ambitious. It took me until now to realize that my opposition to progressive ideals was rooted in the fact that I don’t believe humanity is inherently good. This realization is extremely unsettling.

I’ve always felt that if society was set up in a way in which people had to fight for themselves, the ending result would be optimum. It’s a survival of the fittest, every man for himself sort of outlook. I was fed the typical stories that supported this theory. My favorite was the one about the girl who went to college, and her professor decided that grades would be averaged out and shared evenly. Despite how hard the A students worked, and despite how little the F students worked, everyone wound up with a C. This little metaphor was supposed to represent how socialism failed in the end. I saw some truths in it. It reminded me of group projects in class, when an entire group would get the same grade, even though some group members did nothing while others carried the workload. I favored individual projects, because I believed them to be more efficient.

What I’m trying to say is I think that Taft’s and Sadie Nash’s ideas about collaboration and the effectiveness of a group over the individual is a little idealistic in my eyes. I keep thinking about the kids that don’t care, or don’t want to work. If everyone was equally motivated, collective activism would obviously be preferred to individual empowerment. I’ve just never found this to be the case.

I don’t want to go through life with this pessimistic outlook, thinking that we shouldn’t try to change the way things are done because most people suck. But sadly, I do believe that most people are inherently selfish and self-motivated. Do I want to continue to believe this, and never try to work for a better world? That doesn’t seem right. I’m just not sure that changing the system will necessarily change the behavior of the individuals within it.

This week we asked students to reflect on the role of money in their own lives, in the organizations in which they have interned, and in the world of non-profits and movement building as a whole. 

Emily is working this summer at Sanctuary for Families, a domestic violence organization in NYC that  provides crisis intervention, emergency and transitional housing, individual and group counseling, job readiness and mentoring programs.
I can’t go a day without thinking about money. Many of the decisions I make on a daily basis are driven by money. Without money I wouldn’t be able to eat, to sleep in a bed, or to attend Duke, among many other things. It’s amazing to me to think that our society has created a culture where something such as money, which at first glance seems meaningless, is valued so highly. Money has become synonymous with power and control. The idea of success, at least to me, has become so intertwined with the possession of money. It’s clear to me that the choices I make surrounding my future career have to take money into account, at least to some extent. Otherwise, how else could I live?

When thinking back on my time growing up, I’ve realized I have been extremely lucky with the lifestyle I am able to lead. I have always lived in a home where my parents could provide me with food every day as well as a loving, supportive environment. I had the privilege of receiving an education and I am now grateful that my parents are continuing my education by funding my college years. I used to take this lifestyle for granted. I had never considered that there are others who aren’t privileged to have the growing environment that I did. This became obvious when I began thinking about social change and the individuals I’m trying to help in my internship this summer. Not everyone has access to resources I have been given, resources otherwise known as money.

I’m sure I have thought about the money as power metaphor before this summer, but our most recent seminar really made me think more deeply about it. To what extent is living in a money-dependent society useful and to what extent is it dangerous. Sure, it provides a system that allows our economy to function efficiently (for the most part), but it also is a limiting factor for me. By that I mean, I’m considering going into a career field such as psychology or social work, which often doesn’t make much money. I want to love what I do, but it’s hard to get rid of that nagging bit about making a living for myself that remains in the back of my mind. I’m sure I would be happy with the work I’m doing, but is it worth compromising having the kind of  lifestyle I have now to go into a field like this?

It’s clear that fields that work toward social change and helping people are needed, but if I have to worry constantly about making enough to eat and having a home, it’s difficult to justify the career choice completely. Perhaps this is why social change is so hard. It takes power and the support of many to create social change. But if money is so closely linked with power in the society we have created, individuals have to have these resources to become involved in a social movement of this scale. When social work is valued less than other more lucrative professions, it makes sense that many individuals would opt to work in a profession that pays more.

I continue to be torn with this issue especially as I approach my senior year. Do I want to pursue a career that I’m passionate about if I have to compromise a comfortable lifestyle? Or do I seek a profession that might reap more monetary benefits in order to take care of things such as my own needs and the needs of my future family, that are important to me? Or am I just completely in the dark about what it takes to live the way I want to? It’s just frustrating and scary, not knowing if I will be able to have both.  I fear it won’t be easy to have both until we change the way our society values work that’s focused on social change such as nonprofits. And that will take money.

Sunhay is a rising Junior and is interning in Queens, New York at the Women in Need Center, which primarily serves as a shelter for Asian women in crises.

After our tea ceremony class at the shelter, the instructor engages in a conversation with one of our clients. The client is looking for work and is having a hard time finding a job she can do. I overhear her say, “Sometimes, I have to ask myself whether I’m earning money to live, or if I’m living to earn money.”

I haven’t figured it out—my relationship with money and how I see myself using it in the future. I feel hopelessly naïve in the face of its power. But I’ve had many encounters with money and the dissonance it can create between two people, much less between people in general.

My best friend of ten years lives in a four story mansion in Seoul, Korea. Growing up, I remember going to her place to sleep-over every weekend and marveling at how she had a driver and a nanny who cut expensive fruits for us to snack on.

It took a while before I mustered up the courage and pride to invited my friend to my home in some forgotten suburb of Seoul. And as we entered our neighborhood, the streets filled with little girls and boys playing with hula-hoops, old men and women lying out in the benches wearing pajamas, teenagers crowded around our corner store for some orange soda slushies, I could feel her tense up.

The blow was when we were in our room speaking quietly because my room had thin walls. My mother entered our room to give us fruit, and my friend’s surprised and awkward reception of this gesture cut deep into my psyche.

Granted, I’m still friends with her and love her to death. But in the abstract (more subconsciously), I resent rich people and excess wealth and money. I  feel anguish over the unequal distribution of wealth in the United States.

And for those whose aim is to close this gap? I wonder if it’s possible to walk the talk, especially when pay inequity exists in the very non-profit organizations fighting for equality. What’s all this fuss and secrecy over people’s pay in these organizations? There is a sense of shame that I feel as an outsider.

I also remember going to a strategic financial planning workshop for non-profits in the place of my boss. I ended up speaking to a finance guy (probably a CFO for a nonprofit) who told me not to get involved in non-profit work—that he had ridden the technology wave, the finance wave, and the non-profit wave. There was nothing to earn anymore in the non-profit venture, at least monetarily. Humanitarian motives and intentions did not cut it.

I left the workshop thinking I’d much rather earn a lot of money to donate than get myself involved in the grittiness of non-profit work (having to worry about money half the time–although something tells me this is not something exclusive to non-profit work). That’s where I saw the need in the movement—a need for money to raise salaries so that people most affected by monetary issues can still participate in the activist work and still afford leisure.

But I think again and wonder about the whole “the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house” idea. I feel like we need a new way of thinking about money and a new format in which we can challenge the status quo. The non-profit business model isn’t working and sometimes does more to alienate the poor. Who is getting paid and who decides where the money goes and how are those being served being empowered within the structure of a non-profit organization?

I just need to think more about this. Money complicates things.

Lillie is a rising Senior and she is interning at Third Wave Foundation. Third Wave is a feminist foundation that provides funds for grassroots organizations with a focus on women’s and transgender issues.

One of our major topics of discussion for this week was how money will shape our involvement in social change. This is kind of scary for me to think about, especially considering my almost-complete obliviousness when it comes to personal finances. I am very blessed to have had a comfortable lifestyle growing up. I was lucky to not even have to really think about money very much, and I think this has lead, in part, to an embarrassing lack of knowledge about basic information relating to money—like, how much money is enough for one person to live on? What would a “comfortable” salary be? How much does it cost to live in a house with utilities, internet, etc.? An apartment? And how much should one budget for groceries, restaurants, clothing, and other needs and wants? (any suggested reading or general advice about how you, readers, figured these things out as a young adult are welcome!)

Because of my almost complete lack of knowledge about these things, it was hard for me to realistically answer the question, “how will money shape your involvement in social change.” After reflecting on some aspects of life that are important to me, I have come to the tentative conclusion that I do not think I could be involved in the women’s movement by working at a feminist non-profit and also live the life that I want to (unless I were married, maybe). Some aspects of my life that are important to me include having at least two children, traveling widely, and living a in a city (which, I’m learning, can be quite expensive!).

While I don’t exactly know what the common salary is at a non-profit, and I’m sure it varies, I have a feeling that it isn’t enough to cover all of the things I want to do. However, I am learning through the Moxie Project that, just because I can’t work directly at a feminist non-profit, doesn’t mean I can’t be involved in the women’s movement and social change. Two alternative forms of involvement that come to mind include philanthropy and fundraising. If I am able to create a lifestyle like the one I’ve grown up with, I definitely plan to give money to organizations like Third Wave Foundation.

One thing I’ve learned while being at Third Wave is that anyone can be a philanthropist, even before achieving a high-level, well-paid job. Prior to working at Third Wave, when I thought of philanthropists, a vision of older, wealthy, white people came to mind. I also imagined fundraising events to entail wealthy people inviting their similarly-wealthy friends to fancy cocktail parties at their expensive homes and encouraging attendees to donate to the organization being honored that particular night. Learning about Third Wave’s donor base has taught me that, even though the model I just described is still valuable and important for many organizations, philanthropy and fundraising can include a much wider variety of people and events.

To use myself as an example, I have definitely been known to spend too much money on designer jeans. Even though I do not consider myself to be incredibly wealthy, if I am okay with spending close to $200 on jeans, I can definitely spare some of my allowance and income for a feminist organization’s cause. When I enter post-college life next year, as long as I make enough money to be relatively comfortable living on my own, I will make philanthropy a priority in my life. I can also see myself emulating some of the more accessible styles of fundraising that Third Wave has demonstrated to me. This can include inviting younger people to an event with donated drinks and hors d’oeuvres, educating them about the organization the event is for, and asking them to each give $10-20. In addition to allowing me to continue to be involved in the women’s movement in a way that makes sense for my life, I believe that an event as simple as the one described can also spread awareness, empower others to view themselves as philanthropists, and ultimately build a movement.

I realize that the plans I just described all require me to have a secure, decently paying job, which is still pretty up in the air. Moreover, thinking about alternative ways to stay involved in the movement still makes me question if simply giving money and educating others is enough involvement. At this point, I can’t shake the guilty feeling I get when I think about working outside of the women’s movement. How does one reconcile wanting to lead a “comfortable” lifestyle with the pressure to work directly within the feminist movement? The Moxie Project has also started to make me see underlying systems that perpetuate gender oppression and other forms of oppression—is simply giving money enough, even as it becomes clear to me that money cannot address some of the larger struggles we are facing?

Whenever I am asked by my parents what I want to do once I leave the booze and sex filled fairytale land that is Duke, and embark on what can only be grudgingly referred to as ‘the real world,’ I give them the same answer they’ve heard for the past five years: “law school.”

But seeing as I take courses more so focused on gender and sexuality as opposed to politics and philosophy, this answer usually doesn’t satisfy them.

“But like, you are going to make money, right?” is often the question that follows. I usually answer defiantly, making respectable fields like “international human rights law” and “gender equity law” sound like taunts, rolling off my tongue with a certain level of acidity that is usually reserved for insulting my worst enemy. My parents are worried that I may be hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt after school with no way of paying it off unless I work in a traditional high-paying field.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t at least share some of their sentiments.

From a young age I was always taught to value money. Not for the flashy things it could immediately get me, but rather what it could provide if I saved enough of it. An education. A downpayment on a house. Things that my parents considered luxury items but what most consider items necessary for survival. See, my parents immigrated from Czech Republic in the late 80’s speaking no English, with little to no money in savings, and with a young child in tow from my mother’s first marriage. They are the epitome of the American dream, with my mother getting her nursing degree after cleaning houses for several years, and my father working as an HVAC Mechanic for a large pharmaceuticals company after doing basic janitorial work wherever he could. Because of the importance they placed on saving as much money as they could, they were able to send my brother and me to two extremely expensive private universities. They celebrated smart investment decisions last year by buying a third home. In their eyes, going in to low paying nonprofit work would be the ultimate slap in the face because it would mean that the money they spent on my education would be something of a waste. Every decision in life has a cost-benefit analysis. Even during this unpaid internship, my parents have been asking me to come home on the weekends and lifeguard at my old pool club in order to make some extra cash. 

But truthfully, my parents’ disapproval of going in to the nonprofit sector is not the only thing keeping me from engaging in this kind of work. At what point can you say it isn’t worth it to you anymore? If you really cared about ‘the movement’ then you wouldn’t care about money, right? How can you help others if you are struggling so hard to make it yourself? Many of the people I’ve encountered in the nonprofit sector (including the President of my organization) have held corporate jobs first, making enough for a comfortable safety net and then embarking on their ‘true passions.’ Admittedly, this seems like much more of a viable option for me, as expectations for post-graduation have been piling up on my shoulders like permanent cinderblocks. I don’t consider myself a sellout so much as I consider myself a realist. But perhaps that’s just what I tell myself in order not to feel guilt when I see that others are making it happen.