Today is Giving Tuesday, at least according to the many emails I’ve been receiving from charitable organizations. The idea appears to be that we can compensate for the consumerist excesses of Black Friday and Cyber Monday by contributing to the public good on Tuesday.
The sentiment is admirable, but one thing about Giving Tuesday has always irked me. Black Friday got its name because stores promoted heavy discounts for the day after Thanksgiving, and so many shoppers turned out that the retailers’ balance sheets instantly went “into the black.” Cyber Monday came about because, after having their appetites whetted by Black Friday sales, shoppers continued to buy things online when they returned to the office on Monday. The following day, however, became Giving Tuesday only when some nonprofit organization declared it so. Instead of being descriptive of consumers’ actual behavior, Giving Tuesday is prescriptive — it’s a day when you’re supposed to give to worthy causes. And I’ve always been wary of any holiday that has “supposed to” embedded in its premise.
On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, you’re supposed to engage in volunteer activities. On Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, you’re supposed to express your gratitude to your respective parents. On Memorial Day, you’re supposed to honor the men and women who died in military service. Hell, even on Christmas, you’re supposed to be merry. (It wasn’t enough for Scrooge to give Bob Cratchit the day off from work; he was expected to be happy about it.)
In college anthropology classes, I learned the difference between two kinds of social norms: mores (pronounced “morays”) and folkways. Both are sets of rules that members of a society are expected to follow, but they differ in degree of significance. Violating a more — for example, by engaging in racist or sexist behavior — may result in serious sanctions or punishment. Violating a folkway — for example, by chewing with one’s mouth open — usually results only in chiding, shaming, or quiet disapproval.
The “supposed-tos” that are associated with holidays are folkways. I once attended a Memorial Day parade where a man was going from spectator to spectator, handing them cheap little paper poppies with wire stems in exchange for a contribution to the American Legion. When he came to me, I — having no need or desire for a fake poppy — politely said, “No, thank you.” He looked at me with undisguised hostility and said, “What do you mean, ‘No, thank you’?” He shook his box of contributed coins. “Disabled veterans!”
Clearly, what I had interpreted as an optional transaction was actually a folkway, and I was violating it. I dropped some coins in the box and accepted a poppy. I suppose that doing so constituted a charitable act, but there’s no joy in charitable giving when it’s done under coercion.
It would be nice if holidays could be relieved of their coercive aspect. Ideally, a holiday should constitute a reminder — People gave their lives for our country! Your parents sacrificed for your well-being! — and an opportunity to act on that reminder. But if I choose not to give on Giving Tuesday — because I didn’t buy anything on Black Friday or Cyber Monday, and because I make charitable contributions regularly — there should be no shame in that.
Oddly enough, this problem with holidays makes me think of the Pledge of Allegiance. Every morning, from the time I first started attending school, we students were expected to rise, face the American flag with our hands over our hearts, and recite the pledge. As a young child, I had no idea what “allegiance” meant (nor, for that matter, who the mysterious Richard Stans was), but I did it because that’s what we were required to do.
Of course, making the pledge was pointless from a practical point of view. First, a promise made under coercion is not an enforceable promise. Second, because I’m a US citizen, my allegiance to the United States is legally required whether I make the pledge or not. (If I’m found to be giving aid and comfort to an enemy, I’ll be considered a traitor either way.) Third, even if the pledge had some legal or moral significance, it wouldn’t have to be renewed every day — it would be presumed to remain in effect until I specifically renounced it.
Eventually those objections became moot. Around the time I entered high school, it came to light that the Supreme Court had, in 1943, ruled that schools could not require students to salute the flag. Naturally, then, I stopped reciting the pledge, as did almost all of my classmates. But I wondered why the Pledge of Allegiance was still considered meaningful enough that people chose to recite it voluntarily at public events.
What I came to realize is that people like to express their deepest convictions — whether it’s their loyalty to their country, their love of their mother, or their caring for people less fortunate — at a time when they can see other people doing the same thing. It gives us a sense of solidarity and community. Like publicly reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, holidays serve that purpose. We can — and hopefully do — offer our gratitude for life’s blessings many times throughout the year, but there’s something special about doing it on Thanksgiving. I suppose there could be something similarly special about giving to charity on Giving Tuesday.
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