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gabsalott13's review against another edition
4.0
Let’s begin with the Meme Corner: this review image was coincidentally sent to me this morning by my little brother. He also gave me the gift card I used to purchase this book, so I guess this is my first “sponsored” post!
Between a Silver Spoon and the Struggle is a “quick read” (less than 100 pages) that I wanted to finish before my scheduled discussions with two Black members of Resource Generation , “a multiracial membership community of young people (18-35) with wealth and/or class privilege committed to the equitable distribution of wealth, land, and power.” I was drawn to this book because I wanted an opportunity to think critically about the ways my life has been shaped by class, instead of dismissing the need to learn from sources like Resource Generation because “I’m not white and I don’t have a trust fund.” If some years ask questions then I assume I’m starting 2021 with a central question of “where do I fit?” into the identities I hold; the communities, organizations, or institutions I belong to; and the politics I’m developing.
This book’s early chapters help answer this question as the primary author, Nicole Lewis, shares her personal “money story”, and the many ways she didn’t notice her class privilege as a child and young adult. Lewis explains that for many young people of color with wealth (her term, will use throughout review), the “option” of not seeing class as something to address and acknowledge in our lives prohibits the possibility of organizing around wealth redistribution and the end to exploitative economic systems. This was a good checkpoint for me, and in some ways, this reminded me of How We Get Free, which discusses the Combahee River Collective’s commitment to the centrality of class in their black feminist theory and action.
The book then shares a bit more about understanding your own classed experience as a person of color. Lewis outlines a fair definition of the combined access and denial of access that class oppression and racism create for people such as myself, without getting stuck in the trap of groveling about the microaggressions we may be more likely to encounter in elite spaces. She discusses the importance of fully contextualizing your money story, as the “model minority” and “bootstrapper” mythology around the American Dream thrives on money stories that obscure the sacrifices, struggles, and systemic processes by which a select few people can accumulate wealth. This reminded me of what I’m learning about systems thinking, and affirmed my hunch that it’s crucial in articulating my personal story. Continuing to develop an analysis that situates my life experiences within broader systems of oppression can help me resist urges towards “Black excellence” (which is really Black exceptionalism) in my personal life, political work, and professional practice.
I also found it useful that Nicole Lewis draws out the generational differences in being able to “do what we want to do” as one of the hallmark examples of the class privilege of young people of color. I’ve discussed this with my (Black) friends who are second-generation college students (as I am on my mom’s side): while our parents may have chosen the best-paying job they could to support their families, we now have the option of using our education to set standards for the type of jobs we’ll take. We can set standards such as requiring that our employment align with our politics (hello, non-profit industrial complex!) This choice is also different from my paternal side of the family, where I am a fifth-generation college student, starting with my dad’s mother’s father’s mom (despite being a genealogy nerd, too many greats make my head hurt!) On this side, I’m part of the first generation to attend a PWI for undergrad, and I think this experience definitely contributed to my concept of education as an individual pursuit, instead of one that provides you with tools to serve your community. This is by no means something you’d learn at all HBCUs, particularly given the well-documented elitism at my father’s alma mater, Hampton University. However, when I think about what my grandmother has shared with me of her time at North Carolina Central University, it’s clear there is lots for me to unlearn based on my time at Penn and other elite white institutions.
I appreciated Lewis’ seamless transition from “where do we fit in?” to “what are we going to do?” The latter half of Between a Silver Spoon and the Struggle is formatted like a workbook, complete with discussion prompts and instructional checklists for putting these concepts into action. The general “4-step process” is not very different from what you’ll find on Resource Generation’s website, but there is helpful contextualization for people of color. While making a giving plan, Lewis encourages readers to acknowledge any communal traditions of giving they’d like to continue, and affirms the fact that many people of color participate in direct giving with their families, friends, and other community members. She discusses the concept of “bringing our whole selves” to the organizing work we believe in as an action-based step that goes far beyond financial contributions. I think this principle is huge for me, as one of the things I’m working through in therapy is unlearning patterns of financial manipulation that I gathered in childhood. A crucial step towards this is deemphasizing money as the “big joker” that trumps all other forms of support.
For me, bringing my whole self can look like using the notetaking skills I developed in Jack and Jill (LOL) or the data/organizational resources I have at my job to support the work of community organizations I believe in. This is central to me “showing up” in sustainable ways, and also helps me heal toxic patterns by affirming the fact that there are so many ways to show up for someone beyond finances, and many of those ways are just as important. Lewis also discusses that part of what prohibits many of us from “showing up” is the class pattern of isolation. Previously, I’d always emphasized my social anxiety, introversion, experience as a homeschooler, and other factors in my rationale for why I am always in the house LMAO. Thinking about this seclusion as not just a natural behavior given my personality, but also as one that is enabled by my class status, was really eye-opening for me (and I will definitely be discussing this in therapy come Monday!)
My final point is a small gripe: some of the stories, advice, and implications in this book require you to believe that philanthropy, the nonprofit sector, and “systems change” should be the primary sites/objectives of struggle for young people of color with wealth. As I become more familiar with (and thus dejected by) my own field’s reliance on corporate donors, privatization through non-profits, and incremental approach to progress, I am less sold on Resource Generation’s approach.
Gripe notwithstanding, I think this is an incredibly useful primer that can help inform conversations, introspection, and intentional action for those who need it. And if you’re like me and have spent a while in denial about whether or not you “need it”, you can take Resource Generation’s quiz, or you can take the Black version by seeing how much you understand of my Twitter rants. Spoiler alert for my quiz: if you know 3+ people in the Links and/or J&J, if you know the “correct” way to pronounce alumnae, or if you are regularly called bougie, then you’ll definitely get a lot out of this book!
Between a Silver Spoon and the Struggle is a “quick read” (less than 100 pages) that I wanted to finish before my scheduled discussions with two Black members of Resource Generation , “a multiracial membership community of young people (18-35) with wealth and/or class privilege committed to the equitable distribution of wealth, land, and power.” I was drawn to this book because I wanted an opportunity to think critically about the ways my life has been shaped by class, instead of dismissing the need to learn from sources like Resource Generation because “I’m not white and I don’t have a trust fund.” If some years ask questions then I assume I’m starting 2021 with a central question of “where do I fit?” into the identities I hold; the communities, organizations, or institutions I belong to; and the politics I’m developing.
This book’s early chapters help answer this question as the primary author, Nicole Lewis, shares her personal “money story”, and the many ways she didn’t notice her class privilege as a child and young adult. Lewis explains that for many young people of color with wealth (her term, will use throughout review), the “option” of not seeing class as something to address and acknowledge in our lives prohibits the possibility of organizing around wealth redistribution and the end to exploitative economic systems. This was a good checkpoint for me, and in some ways, this reminded me of How We Get Free, which discusses the Combahee River Collective’s commitment to the centrality of class in their black feminist theory and action.
The book then shares a bit more about understanding your own classed experience as a person of color. Lewis outlines a fair definition of the combined access and denial of access that class oppression and racism create for people such as myself, without getting stuck in the trap of groveling about the microaggressions we may be more likely to encounter in elite spaces. She discusses the importance of fully contextualizing your money story, as the “model minority” and “bootstrapper” mythology around the American Dream thrives on money stories that obscure the sacrifices, struggles, and systemic processes by which a select few people can accumulate wealth. This reminded me of what I’m learning about systems thinking, and affirmed my hunch that it’s crucial in articulating my personal story. Continuing to develop an analysis that situates my life experiences within broader systems of oppression can help me resist urges towards “Black excellence” (which is really Black exceptionalism) in my personal life, political work, and professional practice.
I also found it useful that Nicole Lewis draws out the generational differences in being able to “do what we want to do” as one of the hallmark examples of the class privilege of young people of color. I’ve discussed this with my (Black) friends who are second-generation college students (as I am on my mom’s side): while our parents may have chosen the best-paying job they could to support their families, we now have the option of using our education to set standards for the type of jobs we’ll take. We can set standards such as requiring that our employment align with our politics (hello, non-profit industrial complex!) This choice is also different from my paternal side of the family, where I am a fifth-generation college student, starting with my dad’s mother’s father’s mom (despite being a genealogy nerd, too many greats make my head hurt!) On this side, I’m part of the first generation to attend a PWI for undergrad, and I think this experience definitely contributed to my concept of education as an individual pursuit, instead of one that provides you with tools to serve your community. This is by no means something you’d learn at all HBCUs, particularly given the well-documented elitism at my father’s alma mater, Hampton University. However, when I think about what my grandmother has shared with me of her time at North Carolina Central University, it’s clear there is lots for me to unlearn based on my time at Penn and other elite white institutions.
I appreciated Lewis’ seamless transition from “where do we fit in?” to “what are we going to do?” The latter half of Between a Silver Spoon and the Struggle is formatted like a workbook, complete with discussion prompts and instructional checklists for putting these concepts into action. The general “4-step process” is not very different from what you’ll find on Resource Generation’s website, but there is helpful contextualization for people of color. While making a giving plan, Lewis encourages readers to acknowledge any communal traditions of giving they’d like to continue, and affirms the fact that many people of color participate in direct giving with their families, friends, and other community members. She discusses the concept of “bringing our whole selves” to the organizing work we believe in as an action-based step that goes far beyond financial contributions. I think this principle is huge for me, as one of the things I’m working through in therapy is unlearning patterns of financial manipulation that I gathered in childhood. A crucial step towards this is deemphasizing money as the “big joker” that trumps all other forms of support.
For me, bringing my whole self can look like using the notetaking skills I developed in Jack and Jill (LOL) or the data/organizational resources I have at my job to support the work of community organizations I believe in. This is central to me “showing up” in sustainable ways, and also helps me heal toxic patterns by affirming the fact that there are so many ways to show up for someone beyond finances, and many of those ways are just as important. Lewis also discusses that part of what prohibits many of us from “showing up” is the class pattern of isolation. Previously, I’d always emphasized my social anxiety, introversion, experience as a homeschooler, and other factors in my rationale for why I am always in the house LMAO. Thinking about this seclusion as not just a natural behavior given my personality, but also as one that is enabled by my class status, was really eye-opening for me (and I will definitely be discussing this in therapy come Monday!)
My final point is a small gripe: some of the stories, advice, and implications in this book require you to believe that philanthropy, the nonprofit sector, and “systems change” should be the primary sites/objectives of struggle for young people of color with wealth. As I become more familiar with (and thus dejected by) my own field’s reliance on corporate donors, privatization through non-profits, and incremental approach to progress, I am less sold on Resource Generation’s approach.
Gripe notwithstanding, I think this is an incredibly useful primer that can help inform conversations, introspection, and intentional action for those who need it. And if you’re like me and have spent a while in denial about whether or not you “need it”, you can take Resource Generation’s quiz, or you can take the Black version by seeing how much you understand of my Twitter rants. Spoiler alert for my quiz: if you know 3+ people in the Links and/or J&J, if you know the “correct” way to pronounce alumnae, or if you are regularly called bougie, then you’ll definitely get a lot out of this book!
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