Society: Me so generous

Netizens are divided over a TikToker giving two migrant workers nasi lemak packets at his HDB block. “Bro your heart is good; other man very hard work, you understand,” praised one. “Things people do for content,” derided another.

For the longest time, social norms favoured quiet philanthropy. Do good, don’t crow. But social media rewards performative charity, where crowing is indistinguishable from doing. The American YouTuber MrBeast is perhaps the most well-known, doling out cars, yachts, houses and parlaying that outlandish generosity into shares, likes and a media empire worth US$700m (S$910m). Singapore has its own MrBeast replicas, like Kevin Wee of “Radical Kindness”, who gives out phones, food, and sometimes just cash to strangers on the streets—including the low-income elderly, rough sleepers, and migrant workers. And he does so very, very publicly. 

Beyond a vague discomfort, an undefined ickiness that some feel—shaped perhaps by cultural norms of modesty—is there anything inherently wrong with performative charity? One objection is disproportionate benefit. A marginalised worker will still be marginalised tomorrow, and perhaps a shade more deprived because there won’t be a surprise nasi lemak coming their way. The Good Samaritan, doubling up as both narrator and PR machine, makes off with fungible social capital: mawkish giving videos clipped for virality attracting praise, engagement and, finally, money. Icky. But how is proportion mediated? And if a small gesture can make a vulnerable person happy even for a few minutes, then should we, the privileged, cavil? Especially if such acts inspire others too.

Maybe it’s that on Instagram and others, charity videos sit beside memes, pranks, and other fluff. “The medium is the message,” wrote the Canadian media theorist Marshall McLuhan. We travel from deprivation to opulence, from giving to consuming, with a thumb-flick. Unlike good art or literature, both of which sometimes trade in deprivation too, social media rarely allows for meaningful engagement. The medium’s message is that a glancing relationship with injustice is enough, and that it’s fine to centre and amplify the self. If all absorbed this message, few would bother interrogating historical narratives, political systems, and cultural norms on which unjust edifices stand. Worse, a medium built for and sustained by spectacle can reinforce the very inequities we seek to address.

Valid concerns, though it may be alarmist and short-sighted to crimp philanthropy’s evolution. People are built differently. Some film themselves handing out bread; others question why hunger persists. There’s some overlap but exceptions should not be expectations. These are the expectations we should have: respect privacy, request permissions, don’t cheat, and call out the charlatans in the community. As long as influencers meet these, maybe we should leave them be.