Zeph’s story

by Zeph Fishlyn

I’m a mid-forties white genderqueer person born and raised in Montreal and raised again as an adult queerdo in the Mission District in San Francisco. I came from an owning-class Canadian WASP family. I can thank them for good teeth and education and vacation opportunities and also for legacies of silence, repression and anger. In 1987 I landed in San Francisco desperate for connection and found it among all the small-town escapees, queers from every quarter who had managed to walk-crawl-run to a city where they could find others like themselves.

I came for a visit and stayed. I dropped out of college. I got my real education. Friends hooked me up with under-the-table work doing housepainting, bookstore work, manufacturing, commercial kitchen work, you name it. The community in San Francisco was the first place I had felt relatively safe and sane. I learned about street economies and I absorbed a lot of politics and went to a lot of protests.

When I turned 25 I found out that I had inherited stocks from my paternal grandfather that at this point were worth somewhere around a quarter million dollars. They were controlled by my Dad, who worked at a firm that invested wealthy peoples’ money for them. (And yes, they all played golf together on weekends.) I ignored this information for years because I had a terrible relationship with my Dad and didn’t want to ask him for anything EVER, particularly money. But I also felt guilty and conflicted, knowing I could have access to this resource and seeing so much struggle around me while I had this huge insurance policy.

When my Dad finally retired, a family friend in the good ol’ boys’ club took over management of those stocks and I was finally able to put aside my family baggage enough to step up to the task of redistribution. I did a ton of research, found Resource Generation, went to a couple of Making Money Make Change (MMMC) conferences, “came out” (with mixed results) to friends in my life, and in the end distributed about 75% of my inheritance, mostly to community-based foundations and some directly to organizations doing work I admired. I chose foundations with strong leadership by women, queers and folks of color, hoping they would be better gatekeepers than I could be on my own. Resource Generation and MMMC were super useful as a starting point, but I didn’t stay involved because it felt limited for rich folks to talk in closed spaces only with other rich folks about social justice. It inherently excludes the wisdom of those who know economic injustice from the inside out.

I didn’t redistribute 100% of my inheritance because I figured I was on my own from there on—my family was both threatened and hurt when I gave away this money and I assumed I wouldn’t inherit again. I didn’t want to find myself in a bad situation because of medical bills or some other crisis and have my friends and family say, “well, you had money but you gave it all away–why should we help you now?”

It was a surprise to me that my Dad gave me more assets when he became sick with cancer. As a raised-poor, formerly homeless friend said to me, “Wow, when you’re born with money the world just keeps giving it you, huh?” Before Dad died, he called me on the phone and asked me to agree I wouldn’t spend it on anything that wasn’t an investment in my future security. I thought for a minute silently about how my individual security is closely wrapped up with the security of communities I depend on, and I agreed.

I want to both honor my Dad’s concern (that I’m going to die broke and alone) and also take a lesson from an ex-lover who I was dating while I was divesting my previous inheritance. At the time, she was struggling to get into nursing school, cause she was coming up on 40 and she was tired of being poor. At the time she expressed a lot of frustration that I wasn’t putting those resources to work in a way that more directly supported the community we were both part of. It’s true, why was I funneling cash to the nonprofit industrial complex when folks we both knew were struggling with basics like health care, housing and work? Her own upbringing taught her that if you have a dime, you share it with your family and friends. I told her I felt overwhelmed by the potential minefield of being a gatekeeper in my own community, and I also wanted to support movements and organizations that were working on root causes and with communities outside of the mostly-white queerpunk circles I knew personally.

I don’t have answers. I am trying to act strategically, and I am also trying to learn what some of my working class friends have told me they take for granted: the habit of sharing as a daily act, without heroics or fancy labels like “philanthropy.” It gets complicated, but I am continuing to act on that principle–that I as an individual am only going to be healthy and safe if those around me are healthy and safe.

5 thoughts on “Zeph’s story

  1. Vinny

    Thanks. I really appreciate this because I think about how to share my wealth with my friends and not be a gatekeeper a lot.

  2. amy laura

    Hey Zeph, Thanks for sharing your story – in itself another kind of resource! I had known a piece of the story from conversations of years back, but it’s good to hear about where this journey has taken you. And, it’s all good food for thought as I need to challenge myself with the next series of cross roads. Next time we’re in the same place again, I’d love to continue the conversation! alc

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  4. Kiki

    wow Zeph. I often feel wrong about how complicated I make things in my head, that it should somehow just be a gut decision, jump or don’t, but it’s not. Thank you. Wish it were easier, but disentangling this fucked up cobwebs of generations of capitalism and exploitation is fucking hard. I sometimes lay back on my history being raised in trailers in the rural South, getting govt cheese, getting glasses from the Lion’s Club, escaping a fundie Xtian boarding school — but the truth is, now I’m literally in the 1%, globally. I make 2 or 3 times what most of the folks I know make, but somehow still feel impoverished. Privileged, for sure. Again, thank you.

  5. Kiki

    and I forgot to say, you taught me so much. Your stories about your friends from lower/middle-class backgrounds who prioritize establishing a stable financial future for themselves… is inspiring and lets me prioritize that for myself. Your stories of how people in our radical/punk/outcast societies face a crux in their 30s/40s and either choose (if they can) fiscal stability or continued autonomy & independence… has allowed me to make that choice (because for me it is a choice) and feel less guilt/ambivalence about “selling out” vs. survival. Maybe that doesn’t sound ideal, but it *IS* survival in the capitalist world we live in. For me, it *does* feel like a decision to tolerate the indignities of accepting capitalism and survive, or to deny them and be relegated to poverty.

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