Former colleagues of mine have recommended that I apply for a job at a philanthropic organization that does interesting work in my field. The job description interests me, and I believe I would be a good fit for the position.
This organization’s funds, however, come from someone who has made, and continues to make, their money in ways that I consider unethical. (There are movements to strengthen relevant laws and make such activities illegal, so I’m not the only one who thinks this.)
While the organization is independent and is recognized for doing quality work, it feels wrong to accept money from such a source, and it feels like I would be helping to burnish the reputation of someone whose actions and public statements, both past and present, I deeply disapprove of.
It may be worth noting that I am very satisfied with my current employment status. This position, if it were offered to me and if I accepted it, would most likely result in a small net financial gain, but it would not have a major financial impact on me or my family. I’m finding it hard to engage in the effort of creating an updated and relevant résumé, writing a compelling cover letter, etc., given my misgivings about the funding source of the organization.
How large a role should the source of this organization’s funding play in my decision to apply for a job there? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
This is not a new problem. Some of the most famous philanthropies in the country have origins tied to the monopolies and anti-union violence of the Gilded Age (Carnegie, Rockefeller), to the promotion of antisemitism (Ford) and to other affronts. That tension is often described, misleadingly, in terms of “tainted” money. Yet nobody objects to a legal settlement directing funds from a Sackler-owned company toward opioid victims, or to a victim winning damages from a victimizer. In thinking through the issue, we might want to distinguish between two kinds of moral concerns, which point in different directions.
First, there’s a backward-looking concern. Like praise and blame more generally, it focuses on what people have done in the past. For some critics, then, what matters most is that wrongdoers are denied any form of reputational repair or redemption. And so when the murky magnate buys a superyacht, they shrug; when that magnate saves lives via mosquito nets or malaria treatments, they’re fulminating on social media about image laundering. But let’s not conflate the wrongdoing and the wrongdoer. Philanthropy doesn’t hide the wrongdoing. What it may affect is how we view the wrongdoer.
Which raises a future-looking concern. A punitive pattern of response might make certain rich people skittish about putting their money toward socially valuable ends. Should blacklisting the individual malefactor automatically take priority over the good that might be done with the malefactor’s money? Efforts to launder a reputation don’t launder the offenses. Rockefeller philanthropy never redeemed the 1914 Ludlow Massacre, a notorious act of antilabor violence involving a Rockefeller-owned mining company. We can condemn the crime and still value what the money later made possible.
There is another forward-looking concern, though, more directly pertinent to your situation. When the donor is still engaged in the objectionable practices, there can be pragmatic reasons for imposing social, if not legal, costs. It might make some people think twice about the sins they commit in building their fortunes. Your own reluctance to apply may reflect that logic; you worry that lending your labor to this institution amounts to condoning the source of its endowment.
Still, it’s worth thinking about what social condemnation can and cannot achieve. It won’t eliminate the awful activity; when there’s money to be made, people unconcerned with mainstream moral judgment will pursue it. Laws, in these cases, have to supplement norms. What social condemnation can do, indiscriminately applied, is deter the beneficial activity, in part by keeping people like you from participating in the philanthropic work. Again, wrongdoing that’s widely known is hard to launder away; people aren’t being deceived. The greater risk is that shunning “bad” money could reduce its prospects of doing good.
Readers Respond
The previous question was from a reader who wondered how to approach her brother about covering up the white-supremacist tattoo he got while in prison. She wrote:
My family is white. My younger brother, now in his mid-30s, has struggled with substance abuse since his teens, leading to stints in prison, homelessness and periods of estrangement from our family. He is now about two years sober after extended treatment and has rebuilt his relationship with my parents and me — something I’m very proud of. During one prison sentence, years before recovery, my brother joined a neo-Nazi gang and got a white-supremacist tattoo. … I know that some tattoo artists will cover white-supremacist tattoos at no cost for those who have disavowed those views. Part of me wants to bring this up with him … but my family’s rigid expectations and harsh judgment most likely contributed to his struggles, and I don’t want him to feel criticized. … I’m seeking insight into whether I have standing — or an obligation — to raise this with him, and if so, how to convey that, while I don’t want to judge, I strongly feel he should cover the tattoo permanently if it no longer reflects his beliefs. — Name Withheld
In his response, the Ethicist noted:
You ask whether you have the standing, or even an obligation, to raise this with your brother. On standing, the answer is plainly yes: A caring sibling with genuine concerns is entitled to voice them. Whether you have an obligation depends in no small part on what effect it would have on his recovery. … You don’t need to start by telling him you’d like the tattoo gone. What you want to know first is whether he still holds the views it represents. If you can find a way to lead with care rather than judgment, the inquiry need not echo the harsh responses he has faced before. Then if you learn that he has left those views behind (or, indeed, that he never truly held them), you will be in a position to talk about tattoo artists who will cover white-supremacist imagery without charge for people in his situation. You or your family might offer to defray any remaining costs. That makes the offer a natural extension of the conversation you’ve already been having, rather than a condition attached to your acceptance of him.
(Reread the full question and answer here.)
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I recently went through this with my nephew after his 13-year stint in prison. For inmates, dividing up into gangs is an act of survival, and there is so much shame after they are released. The physical tattoos are just the start. The way I approached the situation was to remind him he had my unconditional love. I cared about what the tattoos meant, and I was there to listen without judgment if he wanted to share the stories of how each one came to be. That opened the dialogue about what he would want to do about them, and how dealing with them was critical if he wanted a fair shot at a life on the outside. We met several tattoo artists together and found one who had himself been incarcerated and understood the journey my nephew is on. My nephew now has artwork on his body that he is excited about and proud of. It is not about covering something up — it is a story of evolution. He is finally beginning to like the person he sees in the mirror. — Jan
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I wanted to add that there should be some room on the letter writer’s part for genuine curiosity about how her brother feels about his tattoo. Coming from a place of wanting to understand how someone else feels about something will always get you further in a conversation that could be loaded with emotion and feelings from the past. — Lara
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I work in a prison and can agree that just because he received the tattoo does not mean he ever held those opinions. Prison is a highly segregated place among the inmate population. A lot of inmates join gangs for protection, sometimes protection isn’t a choice. I would just like to add that he may not have had the tattoo covered up for a reason — maybe it reminds him of what he works to not go back to, and why he is sober. Another possibility is that he feels that once he has truly moved past that part in his life, getting the tattoo covered will cement the transformation of who he once was to who he is. — Andrew
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Why pussyfoot? The letter writer should tell the brother that the tattoo offends many people and could cause him difficulties in life, and ask if he is concerned about that. If he is, direct him toward getting the tattoo covered. — Robert
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The Ethicist missed the bigger conversation the letter writer should be undertaking with her brother. Rather than asking whether or not he is, or was, a white supremacist, the letter writer would better serve her relationship with him by asking about the circumstances he was in when he got the tattoo. Holding space to understand her brother’s experience during his period of incarceration gives their relationship strength and her the standing to suggest any changes she feels are in his best interest. Those tattoos represent the hell he went through. Empathy will pave the way home. — Carmen
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