An Exploration of the Institutions, Characteristics and Drivers of Elite Philanthropy in India

Home , Adi Godrej, Anu Aga, Azim Premji, Baba Amte, Gururaj Deshpande, Kallam Anji Reddy

Swinburne University of Technology Faculty of Business & Law

DRAFT

An exploration of the institutions, characteristics and drivers of elite philanthropy in India

John Godfrey BA, MSc, Grad. Dip Arts Admin Student ID 1700367

Submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Swinburne University of Technology, Faculty of Business & Law. Year of approval for award 2020.

Abstract

This thesis fills a gap in the empirical study of elite philanthropy which to date has been confined to mostly Western philanthropy, informed by Christian and Jewish norms and traditions. This research explores a tradition and practice of philanthropy which has its early roots in dharmic and Islamic tradition yet, as is shown, has been influenced by Western rules and norms. Twenty-eight philanthropists were interviewed. The two religions these respondents most identified with were Hindu or Parsi, though some identified as Jain, Muslim,

Christian or Buddhist.

The research applies a theoretical framework described as a moral citizenship. This framework brings together two theoretical models developed by Schervish - identification theory and moral biography (Schervish et al. 1998; Schervish and Havens 1997; Schervish and

Havens 2001b, 2002; Schervish and Herman 1988; Schervish et al. 2001). These models, they argue, provide the most fruitful way to identify the social and psychological frameworks that mobilise the agency of philanthropists. The methodology used to apply this theoretical framework used long interviews in which respondents were given free rein to talk about their philanthropic activity in their own terms. This methodology follows in the steps of others such as Breeze and Lloyd (2013), Lloyd (2004), Odendahl (1990), Ostrower (1995), Panas (1984,

2019 [1984]), Scaife et al. (2011), Schervish and Herman (1988) and Schervish and Havens

(2001b) who have interviewed wealthy philanthropists.

This thesis discovers an Indian elite philanthropy that is essentially other regarding, or altruistic. In their interviews, the majority of respondents described engaging with issues related to alleviating poverty. This contrasts with analysis of Western elite philanthropy, which qualitative and quantitative studies indicate as being supportive of causes that benefit the elite itself. The theoretical contribution offered by this research is a validation that theoretical models developed by Schervish can be applied to non-Western philanthropy.

The major empirical contribution offered is evidence of patterns of elite Indian philanthropy which which could be understood as more altruistic and less self-serving than those identified in the West.

Acknowledgement

The seeds for this research were planted in 2004 at the London book launch of

Theresa Lloyd's Why the Wealthy Give (Lloyd 2004). As a professional major gift fundraiser, I had met and played a role in receiving gifts from wealthy philanthropists.

Yet my interactions with them to that point had not given me the deep insights into what motivated personal philanthropy that I felt I needed to be really good at my job. I was strengthened in my resolve, after reading this book, to find my own opportunities to deepen my understanding of philanthropy and philanthropists.

Eventually, motive and opportunity to undertake a PhD began to converge.

Having established a career as a fundraising consultant, opportunities to pursue academic study as well as work became possible. I sought initial advice from Associate

Professor Wendy Scaife, who has researched philanthropy in Australia. Professor Scaife made the valuable suggestion that I should, if possible, choose an overseas focus for my research. I was at that time working with a client in India, so Indian philanthropy offered an accessible and interesting topic.

For enabling me to pursue my research in India, I owe great thanks colleagues and friends in that country who rendered great assistance, advice, connections and hospitality – Dr Amir Ullah Khan, Arundhati Ghosh, Azad Oommen, Hari Menon, Murray

Culshaw, Dr Nick Argent, Nikunj Gupta, Noshir Dadrawalla, Pallavi Kumar, Parul Soni,

Dr Sabith Khan, Shrey Goyal and Major-General Surat Sandhu.

During the course of my study I had the benefit of two Principal Supervisors,

Professors Michael Gilding and Lester Johnson each of whom contributed their deep understanding of research and thesis writing to a field that was novel to them. The field was similarly novel to another, Dr Gordon Campbell who was of great assistance when he joined as a Supervisor in the final stages. Dr Michael Liffman whose field is philanthropy was of great help in the early stages until his retirement from the

University. Last, but certainly not least Dr Elizabeth Branigan remained both a supervisor and a strong supporter of this research, in particular, bringing her own experience and understanding of India.

None of this thesis would have been possible without the generosity of the 28 philanthropists and another 13 professionals who work in the philanthropy sector who made time available for me and in many cases provided me with introductions and other resources for my research. These particular people must remain anonymous as a condition of their sharing so many of their personal stories.

Last but not least are my whanau (family). I am especially indebted to my brother Dr Michael Godfrey who volunteered to undertake the final proofread of this thesis and has assiduously identified and corrected inconsistencies in punctuation and spelling. Above all, I'm deeply thankful to my partner Jay who has lived through the process of me being immersed in this project and supported me throughout with patience and love.

Declaration by Candidate

• This thesis contains no material that has been accepted for the award of any other degree in any university. • To the best of my knowledge this thesis contains no material previously published or written by another person except where due reference is made in the text of this thesis. • This work is not based on any joint research or publications. • This thesis is less than 100,000 words in length exclusive of bibliography and appendices. • Dr Michael Godfrey proof-read this thesis. The proof-reading addressed only spelling, punctuation and grammar did not change the substantive content of the thesis. Dr Godfrey’s fields of study are English Literature and Theology. He is the brother of the author. • This thesis has met all the requirements of the Ethics Approval from the Swinburne University of Technology under SUHREC Project 2013/012. • I warrant that there is no third party copyright material reproduced in this thesis (such as artwork, images, unpublished documents), or any published work (such as journal articles) in which the copyright is held by another party (such as publisher, co-author).

Signed

John Godfrey 1 December 2019

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION 1 Context of the thesis 1 Why study elite philanthropy 3 The relevance of a study of Indian elite philanthropy 5 The practical benefits of this research 7 Theoretical framework, research questions and methodological paradigm 10 Personal motivation 11 Outline of thesis chapters 13 ELITE PHILANTHROPY 16 Studies of elite philanthropy 16 The prominence of consumption philanthropy 18 Quantitative studies confirm dominance of consumption philanthropy 20 Other patterns, behaviours, values and norms in Western philanthropy 21 Two Israeli studies 27 Contemporary philanthropy in India 28 Other literature on contemporary Indian philanthropy 30 Recent greater interest 31 Causes supported through philanthropy 34 Motivation 37 The State and philanthropy 37 Summary and conclusion 39 DÃN, ALTRUISM, RELIGION AND PHILANTHROPY 41 Introduction 41 Studies of Dãn 41 Marcel Mauss and the literature on the non-reciprocity of dãn 42 The relevance of dãn to philanthropy 44 Altruism 51 The history of the term altruism 52 Different models of altruism 53 Altruism and reciprocity: The Golden Rule 54 Altruism and religion 56 Altruism in philanthropy 58 Atkinson’s weak altruism 60 Altruism as motivation 61 Summary and concluding remarks 62 HISTORY AND TRADITIONS 64 Earliest evidence of endowments and giving to the poor 64 An explanation of dharma 66 Islamic confluence with endowments and giving to the poor 67 Divergent attitudes to poverty after the arrival of Christian missionaries 69 British rule and new forms of regulation 71 Drivers of change 73 Influence of Mahatma Gandhi 76 Wealth and trusteeship 77 Nationalism, philanthropy and education 79 Summary and conclusion 80 THE THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK 82 Introduction to the theoretical framework 82 The model selected 82 i

Alternative models 83 Empirical basis of the theoretical framework 84 Essential elements of a theory 85 The moral citizenship framework 86 Moral citizenship of care 88 Introduction 88 Moral citizenship 88 Care 89 Summary 91 The identification model 92 Communities of participation 93 Frameworks of consciousness 94 Models and experiences from youth 97 Invitations to participate 98 Discretionary resources 99 Summary of identification model 99 Moral biography 100 Capacity (empowerment) 101 Moral compass 103 Agency 105 Hyperagency 106 Principality 107 Producers of philanthropy 108 Summary and conclusion 109 METHODOLOGY AND METHODS 112 Introduction 112 Research questions 112 Definition of elite 113 Methodology 114 Resource limitations leading to the choice of methodology 115 Interviewing elites 116 Positionality and reflexivity 116 Value-ladenness 118 Ontology and epistemology 119 Method of research 122 Long interviews as a qualitative research method 122 Preparation 124 Interviews conducted in English 125 Research ethics 127 The interview schedule 128 Sampling technique and recruitment 129 Place of interview 135 Length of interview 136 Recording interviews vs. note-taking 137 Conducting the interview 138 Transcriptions of interviews 142 Coding the transcripts 144 Post-interview 144 My positionality and reflexivity 145 Collaboration and complicity in this research 147 Summary and conclusions 149 THE IDENTIFICATION MODEL 151

Introduction 151 Identification theory 152 Communities of participation 152 Nonprofit board membership and other associations 153 Elite school networks 154 Philanthropy networks 155 Informal peer associations 158 Family ties 159 Models derived through association 159 Summary 160 Frameworks of consciousness 161 Values and beliefs 162 Giving back 164 Good fortune 165 Religious and spiritual influences 166 Summary 169 Models and experiences from one’s youth 170 Dynastic philanthropy 170 Parents as models 172 School experiences 175 Travel experience when young 176 Summary 177 Existence of discretionary resources 178 Summary 182 Invitations to participate 183 Summary 184 Chapter summary and conclusions 184 MORAL BIOGRAPHIES 187 Introduction 187 Moral compass 187 Amit 193 Personal capacity 200 Psychological empowerment and the spiritual secret of money 201 First level of psychological empowerment 202 The second level of psychological empowerment 205 Hyperagents and producers of philanthropy 210 Chapter summary and conclusions 212 SUPPORT FOR ALLEVIATING POVERTY THROUGH EDUCATION 214 Introduction 214 Support for causes related to poverty 215 A Focus on Education 216 Work within the government system or set up private schools? 218 Whether to charge fees? 221 Where to focus and whether on rural or urban schools? 222 Providing training and capacity building for teachers 225 Ensuring participation of children in education 226 Summary and conclusion to focus on education 228 LIVELIHOODS AND STANDARD OF LIVING 229 Introduction 229 Standard of living 230 Responses to emergency and immediate needs 230 Water 232

iii

Toilets 234 Housing 235 Income generation 236 Skilling, vocational training or adult education 236 Rural Non-agricultural income generation 240 Empowering women 241 Numeracy and literacy 241 Empowering women through savings and loans programs 242 Microfinance and micro insurance schemes 243 Summary and conclusion 244 HEALTHCARE FOR THE POOR 245 Introduction 245 Clinics and hospitals 246 Family controlled hospital and clinic facilities 247 The Narayana Hrudyalaya (NH) model 250 Primary healthcare 252 ICT provision 253 Training for primary health providers 254 Medical camps 255 Specific medical conditions 256 Opium, and liquor addiction 259 Tobacco abuse and children 259 Summary and conclusion to Healthcare 260 HIGHER EDUCATION AND CULTURE 263 Introduction 263 Higher Education 263 Not of direct benefit to elite 263 Support for elite Indian universities 265 New private universities 265 New liberal arts university 268 Support for university scholarships and research 269 Summary 270 Arts and culture 271 Introduction 271 Support for visual arts 271 Support for traditional crafts 273 Alumni giving to elite private schools 274 Chapter summary 275 DISTINCTIVE ELEMENTS OF INDIAN PHILANTHROPY 277 Introduction 277 Dãn, karma and trusteeship 277 Dãn 278 Karma 280 Trusteeship 282 The influence of Gandhi on the elite 283 The responses of the Indian elite to poverty 285 Giving without expectation of reciprocity 286 Business related philanthropy 288 Licence to operate 288 The Narayana Health Model 291 Atkinson’s weak altruism 293 Andreoni’s warm glow and impure altruism 295

Summary 297 SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION 298 Introduction 298 The Principal institutions of philanthropy 300 Dãn 300 Gandhi’s trusteeship 302 Endowments and foundations 303 Business philanthropy and CSR 304 Causes supported 305 Schools and education 306 Health projects 307 Standard of living 308 Higher education 311 Moral citizenship 314 Findings related to the identification model 314 Moral biography 318 Hyperagents and producers of philanthropy 321 Limitations of this investigation 322 Applications and recommendations for future research 324 Conclusion and contribution to knowledge 326 Research questions answered 327 The Theoretical Contribution 332 Summary of contributions 333 REFERENCES 334 APPENDIX A: SCHERVISH’S SIXTEEN LOGICS 362 APPENDIX B: QUANTITATIVE RESEARCH OF US & UK ELITE PHILANTHROPY 368 APPENDIX C: SUGGESTED MOTIVATIONS FOR PHILANTHROPY IN INDIA 387 APPENDIX D: INSCRIPTIONS 390 APPENDIX E: REVIEW OF INDIAN PRESS IN 2011 395 APPENDIX F: TERTIARY EDUCATION OF PHILANTHROPISTS NAMED BY PRESS 420 APPENDIX G: CONSENT LETTER SIGNED BY PARTICIPANTS 422 APPENDIX H: ETHICS CLEARANCE 428 APPENDIX I: PUBLICATIONS BY THE CANDIDATE RELATED TO THE THESIS 430

List of Figures and Tables

Chapters 1 - 14 Figure 5.1 The moral citizenship framework 82 Figure 7.1 The identification model 145 Figure 8.1 The moral biography concept 182

Table 2.1: Causes supported by Indian philanthropists 31 Table 5.1: Four essential elements of a theory or model 80 Table 6.1: Education background of participants 121 Table 6.2: How participants were introduced 126 Table 6.3: Socio-demographic information for participants 126 Table 7.1: Board memberships of participants 148 Table 7.2: Wider network of association though nonprofit organisations 148 Table 8.1: Tripartite story structure of participant narratives 183 Table 9.1: Cause areas participants described supporting 209 Table 9.2: Broad categories of education related activity participants describe supporting 211 Table 10.1: Broad categories of living standard activity participants describe supporting 223 v

Table 11.1: Broad categories of health related activity participants describe supporting 239

Appendices Figure B.1: Causes supported by US HNWI households 2005 - 2013 363 Figure B.2: Causes supported by US gifts of $1 million or more 2000- 2011 365 Figure B.3: Causes supported by US gifts of $1 million or more 2012- 2015 367 Figure B.4: Causes supported by UK Gifts of £1 million or more 2007 -2017 368

Table B.1: Proportion of UK gifts made by Individuals, Foundations and Corporations 2006 - 2011 369 Table B.2: Proportion of UK gifts made by Individuals, Foundations and Corporations 2012- 2015 370 Table B.3: Proportion of UK gifts made directly to causes vs. to Giving Vehicles 370 Table B.4: Study of High Net Worth Philanthropy 2006 -2016 in dollars ($USD) 372 Table B.5: Coutts Million Dollar Donors Report: Distribution of Million Dollar Gifts in the US 2012 -2016 374 Table B.6: Coutts Million Pound Donors Report: Distribution of Million Pound Gifts in the UK 2006 - 2015 375

INTRODUCTION

Context of the thesis

The emergence of the study of philanthropy and charitable giving as an academic field is relatively new. The first major research centre dedicated to the study of philanthropy is dated to the 1980s (Katz 1999). The underlying assumption for the existence of the study of philanthropy is that its significance in social, political and economic terms is a useful area of knowledge. This would seem the more so in a time where, by various measures, wealth and influence have been accumulating inexorably in the hands of a shrinking proportion of society (Callahan 2017; Giridharadas 2018;

Reich 2018a), and wealth inequality appears to be structurally entrenched (Piketty

2014).

Hall (1999) contends that academic interest in philanthropy began in the 1890s with dissertations on the history of Roman charity, on American Fresh Air charities, and on the sociology of the “indiscriminate charity” about which Carnegie (2009 [1920]:

194) had been so scathing. Katz (1999) on the other hand, contends that it was not until the 1980s that the term philanthropic studies was coined.

Katz (1999) traces its emergence from the social sciences, which until the 1980s had focused on the practical aspects of social work rather than on the wider field of social and political analysis that included philanthropy. Interest in the subject in the UK can be traced from Jordan (1969) and Owen (1965) who between them covered the social history of philanthropy in England from 1480 to 1960. A comprehensive literature review undertaken by Bekkers and Wiepking (2007) has found that the field

has expanded enormously from these origins and across many academic disciplines.

They note, however, that most studies have been conducted in the United States, followed by the United Kingdom, Canada and the Netherlands.

The norms of charitable giving are largely assumed to be derived from religious tradition (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Gunderman 2009; Jackson et al. 1995; Wuthnow and

Hodgkinson 1990). It is significant, therefore, that in each of these nations listed above, these norms are largely derived from Christian tradition.

Interest in investigating the field of philanthropy outside the nations named seems only to have emerged with the millennium. Examples of this recent interest are three collections of papers which cover between them Africa, Australasia, Brazil, Central and Eastern Europe, China, Japan, Middle East, Nordic countries, Russia, Serbia, South

Asia, Thailand, Turkey (Habito and Inaba 2006b; Ilchman et al. 1998; MacDonald and De

Borms 2008).1

The growth of interest includes India, represented by chapters in each of the above three collections (Anderson 1998; Bornstein 2006; Francis et al. 2010; Francisco-

Tolentino 2010; Juergensmeyer and Mcmahon 1998). There have been three literature reviews of philanthropy in India which trace this growth. Sen (1992) summarised the existing literature on Indian nonprofit organisations touching only lightly on philanthropy. Sidel (2001) described the literature as thin, though noted growth of interest in the field and, particularly, in private giving. A paper of which this researcher

1 Parallel to and supportive of interest in philanthropy has been the Johns Hopkins Comparative Nonprofit Sector Project (CNP), a study of the non-profit sector across 45 countries, coordinated by Lester Salamon and Helmut Anheier. See https://ccss.jhu.edu/research-projects/comparative-nonprofit- sector-project/.

is a co-author, Godfrey et al. (2017) focused on corporate philanthropy in India tracing this back to Indian giving practices of the dharmic, Mughal (Muslim), British Raj, and

Indian Nationalist eras. Since the last publication there has been further growth of scholarship in Indian philanthropy including two new books (Kassam et al. 2016;

Sundar 2017). Within this literature there is, nonetheless, only limited discussion of the philanthropy of the elite; and, almost none that draws on the narratives of elite philanthropists themselves. This gap in the existing research, which is established in more detail in Chapter Two, is what this research now fills.

Why study elite philanthropy

This thesis deals with contemporary elite philanthropy. The meaning of elite is discussed more comprehensively in Chapter Five. In essence, however, the elite are those with the most wealth and influence in any society (Mosca 1965; Pareto 1963). A positive argument for studying elite philanthropy is expressed by Moody and Breeze

(2016: xiii)—“elite giving … is the locus for much of the innovation in philanthropic discourse and practice”.

A less cheerful rationale for this study is that much analysis of elite philanthropy in the US, UK, Australia and Israel indicates that elite giving neglects many of the broader issues in society, including the basic needs of the poor (Auten et al. 2000;

Clotfelter 1992; Murphy and Nagel 2002; Reich 2006, 2013a; Wolpert 2006; Zunz

2012). Qualitative and quantitative data (for references see Chapter Two) support the argument that the causes favoured by the wealthy elite are indicative of so-called consumption philanthropy (Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish and Havens 1988;

Schervish 2000a, 2008), that is philanthropy related to causes the elite benefit from— such as the higher education, culture and health services used by the elite, their families 3

and their social networks (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Lloyd 2004; McLeod 2018; Odendahl

1990; Ostrower 1995). 2

Published research has not tested neglect of issues such as the needs of the poor by elite philanthropy beyond the West. The only studies outside the West are two Israeli studies (Schmid et al. 2009; Shimoni 2008). These report findings that are an exception to the focus on services used by the elite themselves but, as discussed in Chapter Two, not in favour of the basic needs of the poor. The researcher, however, prior to commencing this project had spent time with non government organisations (NGOs) and philanthropists in both India and the Middle East and observed that compassion for those in poverty appeared to be a motivating concern among some of the elite in those places.

Another reason for a focus on elite philanthropy is that concerns are being expressed about the contemporary concentration of economic and political influence in the hands of elite philanthropists. Reich (2018a) worries that rules that govern philanthropy in many countries, including the tax treatment of philanthropy, are hard to justify. Callahan (2017: 185) wonders why the public does not show interest in tougher rules for philanthropists who “... buy megaphones that often drown out the voices of ordinary people”. Giridharadas (2018) worries about an elite of international entrepreneurs intending to do good, while benefiting themselves.

Phillips (2018: 175) suggests philanthropy matters for public management because it “represents billions in private capital available for public benefit”. At the extreme of the discourse against elite philanthropy, McGoey and Thiel (2018: 19)

2 See Appendix A: Schervish’s 16 Logics for further definition of consumption philanthropy in Schervish’s own terms.

suggest that mega donors “are effectively beginning to act in concert, and thus become more like a self-anointed collective of leaders, contributing to and solidifying the contemporary theodicy of privilege”. The authors use theodicy (an argument concerning the goodness of an omnipotent God allowing the existence of evil) in a sense they attribute to Bourdieu (1971, 1991) as being one of the mechanisms that the elite use to justify their existence.

The relevance of a study of Indian elite philanthropy

Are the concerns reflected by Callahan (2017), Giridharadas (2018) and Reich

(2018a) applicable to India? Or, is India (and are other countries) different to the West?

This present research is based on the hypothesis that there is a distinct practice of philanthropy by the Indian elite that is shaped by India’s history and traditions. Moody and Breeze (2016: xv) rightly say “philanthropic thinking and practices are always embedded in culture and context”. India’s culture and historical context make it a particularly fascinating nation in which to undertake such an exploration.

Christian traditions have had some impact on contemporary Indian philanthropy. To begin with, Indian charity law, as in the Western countries mentioned already, is based on English Law.3 Over the centuries India has been colonised by both

Islamic and British rulers which, as shall be shown, led to the absorption of first, Islamic, then Christian norms into those that already existed. Far more significant, in both present day India and her history though, this thesis argues, are dharmic religious

3 The legal foundations for the administration of charity were laid out by Charitable Uses Act of 1601, known as the Statute of Elizabeth (43 Eliz I, c.4). These foundations remain influential right to this day in the USA, Britain and the former British colonies, including India.

norms and traditions, which can be traced from at least 1500 BCE.4 What effect does this blend of influences have on the philanthropy of the contemporary Indian elite?

Without doubt, the accumulation of wealth in the hands of the few is as much a topic of public concern in India as the West. India sits among the poorest third of the world’s countries and will fall short of meeting its UN Millennium Development goals

(Balachander 2011). Around 450 million (or just under 40%) of its population live in poverty (Scrutton and Kuncheria 2011). Chancel and Piketty (2017) document a significant increase in inequality in India. The share of national income for the top 1% of earners reached 21.7% in 2013-14, up from 6.2% in 1982-83. For the top 0.01%

(approximately 800,000 individuals) the share reached 3.8% in 2013-14, up from 0.4 % in 1982-83. Meantime, the share of the bottom 50% of national income has decreased from 23.6% in 1982-1983 to 14.9% in 2013-14 (all figures from Chancel and Piketty

2017). The last year for which Government poverty estimates for India exist is 2011-12 and these conclude that the population living in poverty comprise 25.7% in rural areas,

13.7% in urban areas and 21.9% for the country as a whole (Planning Commission

2013). The national average poverty line used was Rs. 816 per capita per month and Rs.

1,000 per capita per month in urban areas. 5 In brutal contrast, Chancel and Picketty

(2017) estimated the average monthly income of the top 0.1% as one thousand times greater at Rs 1,023,985 in 2014.

4 According to the 2001 Census, 84% of the population consider themselves members of a dharmic religion (i.e. Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist, or Jain), 13% are Muslim and 2% Christian. Government of India. 2001. Religion [Online]. Available: http://censusindia.gov.in/Census_And_You/religion.aspx [Accessed 23 August 2019].

5 Rs 1,000 = USD $14.09 using live mid-market rates (https://www.xe.com/currencyconverter/convert/ Accessed 12 October 2019).

At present, there are very few qualitative or quantitative studies exploring the patterns and practices of elite philanthropists in India.6 Even fewer include data obtained from philanthropists themselves, as the present research does. Therefore, there is little data to answer whether elite philanthropy in India reflects the Western pattern of so-called consumption philanthropy or, conversely shows an interest in alleviating poverty or inequality. 7 That is the gap that this research is designed to fill.

The practical benefits of this research

Because there is little published academic research into philanthropy in India, little research informs decisions about national policymaking including, for example, taxation. Below examples of policy are described, where research, were it sufficiently developed could arguably have been useful. It should be noted, that this thesis does not intend to provide specific answers to these particular questions, though, its findings may provide useful insights and directions for further research.

The first example presents in the form of a paradox. From Independence in 1947 until the mid-1980s the Indian Government adopted explicitly socialist principles including high taxation of business and the rich under the rubric of nation building. A consequence was a reduction in the previously significant amount of indigenous philanthropy (Cantegreil et al. 2013; Sundar 2000, 2013a, 2017). Conversely, under more recent governments taxation has been lowered considerably, philanthropy

6 There are only estimated statistics for Indian giving. These are described and analysed in Centre for Social Impact and Philanthropy 2019, Estimating Philanthropic Capital in India: Approaches and Challenges, Haryana, India, Ashoka University.

7 Consumption philanthropy is not intended as a pejorative categorisation. Schervish (2008) suggests that it is a logic of philanthropic practice which is effective because the identification between donor and recipient is at its strongest.

appears to be increasing (Cantegreil et al. 2013; Kassam et al. 2016; Sundar 2000,

2013b, 2017), yet inequality in India has been growing (Chancel and Piketty 2017).

Might it be true, as Piketty (2014) suggested be the case, that greater taxation of the wealthy is the best way to reduce inequality? An empirically informed understanding of the effects of income tax on patterns of philanthropic activity by the rich would inform recommendations towards an effective solution of this conundrum.

A second example is, as in a number of Western countries, India offers tax incentives for philanthropy including deductibility of gifts and exemption from income tax for charitable trusts. These are regarded as having led to inefficiency, even corruption in some instances (Kapur and Mehta 2007; Sundar 2017; Tilak 2002). A government advisory group (Shome 2001) convened in 2001 was the last attempt to revise these. Its evidence, which covered the entire national tax structure was drawn from government officials and business representatives. Its recommendations on amendments to tax-deductibility of donations and exemption from income tax, on the grounds these were inefficient and iniquitous, were not adopted. Might a robust empirical understanding including the attitudes of elite philanthropists towards tax exemption improve any future government enquiry?

Moving aside from taxation policy, the Government of India has played an important role in promoting and regulating corporate social responsibility (CSR) in

India.8 The most recent and significant action by the Government has been the 2013

Companies Act which mandates expenditure of 2% of gross profit on CSR.

8 The acronym CSR will generally be used in this thesis instead of Corporate Social Responsibility as is the norm in most Indian and Western publications.

In this regard, it is necessary to note that in India the vast majority of business wealth is in family hands (John 2013; Kassam et al. 2016; Kumar 2014; Mahmood and

Santos 2011; Majumdar 2014, 2015; Ramachandran and Jha 2009; Sheth 2010; 2000,

2013a, 2017). Chanana (2011), Kumar (2013) and Varadarajan and Chanana (2013) suggest that many families channel much of their philanthropy through their business foundations. Ramachandran and Jha (2009) have coined the term family-corporate jugalbandi to describe what they state is the most common model of philanthropic organisation in India “largely funded by the business but often run under the leadership of the business family” (Ramachandran and Jha, 2009: 7). 9 10

One of the apparent consequences of the introduction of a mandatory 2% has, in fact, been the reduction to that percentage of spending on CSR by some corporations

(Dharmapala and Khanna 2018; Varottil 2018). Did the absence of empirical information relating to existing patterns of business ownership and CSR spending lead to this unintended consequence?

A final example where a better understanding of elite philanthropy might have avoided unintended consequences relates to recent anti-corruption legislation, the

Lokpal and Lokayuktas Act, 2013 (Government of India 2013b) which, by requiring all trustees of NGOs11 and charitable trusts to declare their assets apparently acts as a disincentive to active (or possibly transparent) engagement in philanthropy by the wealthy (Dadrawala 2019).

9 A jugalbandi is a performance in Indian classical music that features a duet of two solo musicians. The word jugalbandi means, literally, "entwined twins." (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jugalbandi).

10 They provide among their examples two family businesses which participated in the present research.

11 The acronym NGO will generally be used in this thesis instead of Non Governmental Organisation as is the norm in most Indian and Western publications.

Outside the area of policymaking, a further example of the relevance of this study is that it may enable NGOs to better understand how to engage the philanthropic support of the Indian elite. Some recommendations on this topic were made in a paper by the present researcher (Godfrey 2016a). The inducement for this ought to be the growth of Indian philanthropy, and the imperative the declining proportion in foreign support for NGOs (Bukhari 2013; Hartnell 2017; Kumar 2017; Sheth et al. 2017). The failure of existing NGOs to engage with and gain the trust of philanthropists is leading the elite to set up their own organisations (Cantegreil et al. 2013; Kassam et al. 2016;

Kumar 2014). As Schervish (2000b) suggests, the role of professional fundraisers is to discover the personal philanthropic impulses of wealth holders.

Theoretical framework, research questions and methodological paradigm

The research is intended to test the hypothesis that there is a distinct practice of philanthropy by the Indian elite that is shaped by India’s own history and traditions.

The investigation is formulated around the following questions:

• What is philanthropy in the Indian context?

• How is philanthropy understood by the Indian elite?

• In particular, how does this elite describe their own philanthropy?

• What is the philanthropy that they do?

• What they do their philanthropy for?

• What has influenced them in their philanthropy?

These questions draw on a theoretical framework of the motivating factors that activate the agency of elite philanthropists that is based on two models developed by

Schervish and colleagues. The first of these models is what Schervish has described as an identification model (Schervish 2000a, 2008; Schervish and Havens 2001b, 2002; 10

Schervish and Herman 1988); and the second his concept of a moral biography

(Schervish 2005b, 2006, 2008, 2009, 2014a, b; Schervish and Whitaker 2010). These models and the theoretical framework draws their ontology and epistemology from theories of structure and agency (Emirbayer and Mische 1998; Giddens 1979, 1984;

Sewell 1992).

For the present research the framework is used in a similar manner to how the underlying models were developed, using a qualitative and interpretivist research paradigm (Saunders et al. 2009; Schwandt 2000). The research is interpretivist because the subjectivity of the researcher interacts with that of the participants (Ekström 1992;

Walliman 2005; Weber 1949).12 The approach is not only interpretivist but also value laden because the researcher brings to the project a particular background and stance related to philanthropy and philanthropists (England 1994; Geertz 1973a; Hondagneu-

Sotelo 1988; Walliman 2005). Chapter Six (Section 6.3.15) has an explanation of my background and stance, or positionality, in respect of this research.

Personal motivation

As the principal researcher, I engage with the participants in this investigation from, as it were, the other side of the philanthropy coin. For nearly a quarter of a century I have been a fundraiser for nonprofits. Not all of my fundraising has been from the world of philanthropy and philanthropists. Indeed, for the first part of my fundraising career it was from business and governments that I chiefly raised funds. In fact, it was making the transition into philanthropic fundraising that made me curious about the world of philanthropists. My credo as a professional fundraiser is that by far

12 Participants is the term used in this thesis for the individuals who were interviewed.

the best way to raise funds is to put oneself in the shoes of the donor. Not every donor is a philanthropist. However, philanthropists have for me been a source of the greatest fascination and, as a fundraiser, of the most significant and sizeable donations.

During the five years preceding embarking on this research my professional life had taken me to India. It was during those visits that I began to learn about the strength of philanthropy in India. Parenthetically, immediately prior to deciding to embark on a

PhD I had been providing fundraising consultancy in the Middle East, therefore learning more about the Islamic tradition of philanthropy which also has an important part to play in India.

I had been considering conducting research into arts philanthropy in Australia and New Zealand because a large part of my life and my previous academic study had focused on the arts. However, one important piece of advice tilted me away from that idea. That advice came from an academic whom I had approached as a possible supervisor for my studies. She was unable to take the role of supervisor yet the advice she gave me was singularly important to this project. Do not focus your research on philanthropy in Australia she said. She added that my work would be much more valuable and have far wider application if I investigated an international field.

As it happened, I was at that time involved in some consulting work for a private school in New Delhi. The firm I was with, at that time, had ambitions to do more in the

Indian market. The small amount of work that I had been doing had already given me access to some of India’s elite philanthropists. My presumption was that, if I continued to work in India, I would build on that access and thereby overcome one of the biggest challenges to a study of this kind: logistics and access to philanthropists. As it turned out, the firm withdrew from its work in India. As I was, by then committed to this

research and the contribution to knowledge I felt it would make, I did have to confront challenges of logistics and access—those challenges are described in Chapter Five.

Outline of thesis chapters

Chapter Two reviews existing empirical investigations of elite philanthropy.

These investigations are from the US, UK, Australia and Israel. A theme which emerges from this chapter, particularly from the US studies is that the philanthropy of elites tends to have as its main focus the interests of the elites rather than broader social concerns such as those related to poverty and disadvantage. The second part of the chapter provides a review of the growing literature concerning contemporary Indian philanthropy. The review of this literature leads to the identification of the research gap which this thesis is intended to fill - the absence of any significant empirical academic investigation into the philanthropy of the Indian elite.

Chapter Three examines a body of literature which has emerged around a finding made by Mauss related to dãn, a specifically South Asian form of giving.13 Mauss (2002

[1950]) suggested that contrary to much of his findings relating to the reciprocity of gifts, dãn was not reciprocated. The first part of this chapter outlines the literature which debates this proposition. The second part of the chapter explores the concept of altruism and, in particular, a body of literature that debates whether dãn conforms with a particular understanding of altruism as a way of giving to others without expectation of return. The third part explores a number of papers which make links between dãn

13 A Sanskrit word widely understood in South Asia to signify a religious or charitable gift.The Latin cognate of dān is dō (dare) “to give”.

and contemporary Western philanthropy. Finally, the chapter reviews scholarship proposing concepts of intangible reciprocity associated with altruism.

Chapter Four reviews literature of India’s history and traditions that relate to significant institutions and norms of Indian philanthropy. This and the previous chapter provide a background to the hypothesis that there is a distinct practice of philanthropy by the Indian elite that is shaped by India’s history and traditions.

Chapter Five proposes and introduces the theoretical framework which provides the basis for this investigation. It is based on theorisation developed by Schervish and colleagues under the rubric of moral citizenship of care, (Schervish 2006, 2008, 2014a;

Schervish and Havens 2002; Schervish and Whitaker 2010).

Chapter Six then sets out the methodology and methods used, identifies the research question and provides a definition of the Indian elite in the context of the study. This research draws on the same ontology and epistemology as Schervish, with its basis in the concept of structure and agency as theorised by Emirbayer and Mische

(1998), Giddens (1979, 1984) and Sewell (1992). That is, this study explores how the philanthropic agency of participants is influenced by past, present and future structures within which as actors they operate. These structures have been explored in Chapters

Three and Four.

The first two findings chapters, Chapters Seven and Eight analyse the data obtained from the narratives of the participants within the theoretical framework discussed in Chapter Five. Chapter Seven explores how participants conform with the identification model, one of the two theoretical concepts that comprise the theoretical model, while Chapter Eight matches the research data against the framework’s second concept, that of philanthropists acting in accordance with their moral biography.

Four further chapters explore findings drawn from participants’ descriptions of their philanthropic activity and are organised around the causes on which their actions focus. Chapter Nine explores their philanthropy related to education; Chapter Ten, that related to livelihoods and standards of living of the poor; Chapter Eleven, healthcare for the poor; and, Chapter Twelve, support for higher education and culture. The penultimate Chapter Thirteen outlines some findings related to characteristics of Indian elite philanthropy which seem distinctive and different from Western elite philanthropy.

Chapter Fourteen, the final chapter, summarises the major themes of this research which support the primary conclusion that Indian philanthropy can be characterised as largely altruistic, directed at others and mostly undertaken without expectation of reciprocity.

ELITE PHILANTHROPY

This chapter identifies the research gap which this thesis will fill and explains the central hypothesis of this thesis. The hypothesis is that is there a distinct practice of philanthropy by the Indian elite that is shaped by India’s own history and traditions.

The first part of this chapter will discuss the existing empirical studies of contemporary elite philanthropy. These draw from respondents from the global West, United States,

United Kingdom and Australia; and one nation in the non-West, Israel. The institutions and norms of these nations are predominantly Christian or Jewish. The latter part of the chapter explores the literature concerning contemporary philanthropy of the Indian elite, the subject of this thesis.14 India is a nation whose population is influenced by the dharmic - Hindu, Buddhist, Jain and Sikh - traditions; and, also carries within its traditions, institutions and normative structures the additional influence of Muslim and

Parsi customs, as well as Jewish and Christian norms. This study is the first in-depth empirical study of elite philanthropists undertaken outside the predominantly Christian and Jewish nations noted above.

Studies of elite philanthropy

Empirical study of the giving of the wealthy began in the US during the 1980s and 1990s, with work by Cermak et al. (1994), Odendahl (1990), Ostrower (1995),

Panas (2019 [1984]), Prince et al. (1993), Prince and File (1994), Schervish et al. (1986) and Schervish and Herman (1988). All of the researchers named above used some form

14 The term elite in the context of this thesis is explained in Chapter Six (Section 6.1.2).

of qualitative interview as their primary data collection methodology. Much of their primary data was obtained by interviewing wealthy or elite individuals.

In the main, Cermak et al. (1994), Odendahl (1990), Ostrower (1995), Panas

(2019 [1984]), Prince and File (1994) present their findings under the general rubric of motivation. Schervish and colleagues prefer to explain their findings in terms that reflect the possibility that giving is motivated by an array of factors, which they describe as the strategic consciousness of their respondents (Ostrander and Schervish 1990;

Schervish 1992, 2000a; Schervish and Herman 1988). A way of considering the findings of all these researchers is that they describe patterns, behaviours, values and norms that appear to act as motivating factors for the philanthropy of the respondents investigated.

Studies of Western elite philanthropy outside the US using interviews as the primary method of collecting data have been undertaken in the UK by Lloyd (2004) and

Breeze and Lloyd (2013). In Australia, Scaife and colleagues (Scaife et al. 2011; Scaife et al. 2012) have contributed their findings from interviews with their nation’s wealthy philanthropists.

The researchers cited comprise a mix of academics and philanthropoids, a term coined for individuals working within the philanthropy and nonprofit sector which will be used in this thesis.15 For example, Breeze, Lloyd, Odendahl, Panas, Prince and Scaife each have previously worked or continue to work in the philanthropic sector as administrators or consultants, as is also true of this researcher. Their positionality adds individual insight to their research. Positionality in research is discussed in Chapter Six

15 For the origins of this term, see Algeo, John and Algeo, Adele S (eds.) (1991) Fifty Years Among the New Words: A Dictionary of Neologisms 1941-1991. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge [Eng.]; New York.

(Section 6.2.3).

Three of the US studies offer typologies to assist understanding the patterns they discover. Odendahl (1990) identifies four types—Dynasty and Philanthropy, Lady

Bountiful, First Generation Man, and Elite Jewish Giving, based on her analysis of cultural factors, religious orientation, and lifestyle. Prince and File (1994), as the title of their book Seven Faces of Philanthropy implies, identify seven types in the belief that a typology would assist fundraisers. The seven types are altruists, communitarians, devout, dynasts, investors, repayers and socialites. Unlike these two other typologies, the types (or patterns) Schervish and Herman (1988) and in other works (Ostrander and

Schervish 1990; Schervish 1992, 2000a, 2003, 2014b) describe as their sixteen logics (or strategies), are not mutually exclusive. 16 An individual may operate within one or more than one logic according to circumstance. Nor are these logics considered to be motivational types as in Prince and File (1994). A chart explaining these sixteen logics is included as Appendix A.

The prominence of consumption philanthropy

Among Schervish’s sixteen logics is one they term consumption philanthropy

(Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish and Havens 1988; Schervish 2000a, 2008) which is related to what Ostrower (1995) and Odendahl (1990) describe as the most strenuous characteristic of US elite philanthropy. Both Ostrower and Odendahl adopt a critical perspective which contends that the philanthropy of the US elite, for the most part, is self-serving, not altruistic, and disproportionately benefits causes such as the

16 Schervish and Havens (1988: 91) explain logic as “a distinct combination of strategic meanings and practices for ordering philanthropic involvements in time and space”. And, a logic “represents the point at which the biography of an individual agent intersects with the history of society in the form of structural constraints and opportunities”.

educational and cultural institutions or healthcare of which the donors, their families and friends are beneficiaries.

Odendahl (1990: 3) opens her first chapter, “Elite American philanthropy serves the interests of the rich to a greater extent than it does the interests of the poor, disadvantaged, or disabled,” and continues one sentence later, “Voluntary organizations supported and directed by wealthy philanthropists divert decision-making in the arts, culture, education, health, and welfare from public representatives to a private power elite”.

Schervish treats this pattern without the pejorative attitude that Odendahl,

Ostrower and others have. Schervish (2008: 168) suggests it is to be emulated rather than eschewed: “Consumption philanthropy mobilises charitable giving so formidably because it is here that identification between donor and recipient is strongest”.

Consumption philanthropy appears as the dominant form of philanthropy among the respondents to their study according to Ostrander and Schervish (1990)17 and, possibly, says Schervish (2000a), in the US population as a whole—precisely because it benefits donors and their families. Charity, as it were, properly begins at home, as will be discussed further as the moral citizenship of care in Chapter Five (Section5.2).

The repayers identified by Prince and File (1994) and the donors identified by

Lloyd (2004), who support the private schools and elite universities that they and their families attend, are examples of consumption philanthropy. The philanthropic support of the elite for their alma mater or the cultural dãn they enjoy attending is considered by

Ostrower (1995) to be one of the ways in which they identify themselves as members of

17 The reference to “their study” is to the Study on Wealth and Philanthropy, the research initially reported in Schervish and Herman (1988).

the elite. As Schervish (2005a: 73) says, philanthropists contribute to causes they identify with “themselves, their families and people much like them”.

Quantitative studies confirm dominance of consumption philanthropy

Quantitative data relating to US (Coutts & Co 2013a, 2014b, 2015b, 2016b; Osili

2010; 2012; 2013; Pasic et al. 2016; Rooney et al. 2014; 2009) and British (Breeze 2008,

2009, 2010, 2011, 2012; Coutts & Co 2013b, 2014a, 2015a, 2016a) giving largely supports the argument that the causes favoured by the wealthy elite were, as suggested above, consumption philanthropy—related to higher education, culture and health services used by the donors, their families and their social class. Findings by Osili

(2013) from analysis of ten years worth of gifts of over USD $1 million reinforce this argument further. She finds that over half of such gifts to higher education, arts and culture or health were made to institutions in the same state as the donor and around two-thirds to institutions in the same geographic region.

The same three causes are reported as leading in the giving of top 50 Australian philanthropists in a study by McLeod (2018). This study (McLeod 2018) also reports on causes supported using a particular tax-effective vehicle, the Public Ancillary Fund, which is increasingly used by wealthy families.

Since establishment it is estimated that PAFs have distributed over $3 billion and provided the greatest support to welfare causes with 28% of total grants, followed by arts and culture at 13%, education (mainly Universities) at 11% with health, international aid, (medical) research and environment all around 6 to 9%. (McLeod 2018: 17).

The author adds, "It is interesting to note these causes supported are somewhere between the preferences of the [top 50 philanthropists] and those supported by the mass market" (McLeod 2018: 17).

In contrast to this latter Australian finding, the cited US and UK data indicate that elite giving neglects many of the broader issues in society, including the basic needs of the poor. This is a proposition that is reflected in commentary in the broad academic literature concerning contemporary Western philanthropy by scholars such as

Clotfelter (1992), Murphy and Nagel (2002), Reich (2006, 2013a, 2016), Wolpert (2006) and Zunz (2012). A detailed analysis of the US and UK quantitative data supporting the points made in this section is included as Appendix B.

Other patterns, behaviours, values and norms in Western philanthropy

Reflecting this pattern of philanthropy directed to causes closely related to the elite, findings emerge that their giving sometimes is linked to membership of, or other involvement with the institutions that benefit from their gifts; or, to personal relationships and appeals from peers (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Lloyd 2004; Odendahl

1990; Ostrower 1995; Panas 2019 [1984]; Prince and File 1994). Ostrower (1995) and

Prince and File (1994) also link this to the sense of identity of the philanthropist. Prince and File (1994) describe a variant of self-interest where members of a local business community (communitarians) will support causes that will benefit their community and, as a result, their own business interests. Communitarians are likely to be actively involved in nonprofits as board or committee members; enjoy the benefits of networking with other business and civic leaders; and, expect business principles to be as valid to their philanthropic activities as their work. In Panas (2019 [1984]), the particular self-interest of being memorialised through philanthropy, for example by a named building, university chair or a scholarship, is noted.

This notion of self-interest reflects suggestions from Odendahl (1990), Panas

(2019 [1984]) and Prince and File (1994) that there is reciprocity arising from giving.

Their descriptions of the nature of reciprocity, however, differ. Panas (2019 [1984]) suggests direct reciprocity, those who give receive. Odendahl (1990) suggests exchange reciprocity whereby the elite gives to one another’s preferred causes. For Prince and File

(1994) reciprocity is evidenced by repayers supporting institutions from which they have benefited. The concept of reciprocity in the context and structure of giving in India is quite distinct from this, as will be discussed in Chapter Four.

The motivational type identified by Prince and File (1994) as repayers might be said to be part of another pattern of behaviour which emerges from the realisation of wealth or good fortune leading to a sense of gratitude (Scaife et al. 2011; 2012); or responsibility or duty (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Lloyd 2004; Panas 2019 [1984]).

Ostrower (1995) found the sense of obligation strongest among those who describe a spiritual affiliation; Panas (2019 [1984]) also reported respondents describing their gratitude in spiritual (religious or secular) terms. The sense of obligation, responsibility or duty also sometimes fits with the rubric of family tradition (Odendahl 1990; Scaife et al. 2011; Scaife et al. 2012) (See Section 2.1.3). These elements and those described in the next paragraph form part of the discussion of an identification model in Chapter Five

(Section 5.3).

Within this sense of family tradition, a notion of the parental responsibility to pass philanthropic values to children can also be found (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Lloyd

2004; Schervish 2006; Schervish and Havens 2001b; Schmid et al. 2009). The responsibility to educate children about philanthropy is associated with dynastic wealth by Panas (2019 [1984]) and Prince and File (1994). Being socialised into philanthropy is also related to the finding by Ostrower (1995) and Prince and File (1994) that it forms part of the self-identity of some philanthropists and may be considered

normative for some elites. Odendahl (1990), Panas (2019 [1984]) and Prince and File

(1994) identify religious belief as a strong factor among some respondents. Others, say

Lloyd (2004), Breeze and Lloyd (2013), Prince and File (1994), Scaife et al. (2011) and

Scaife et al. (2012), link their philanthropy to secular spiritual development.

Joy from and passion for giving are described as significant in the literature.

Lloyd (2004) and Ostrower (1995) place emphasis on passion for a cause as a factor in giving. Breeze and Lloyd (2013), Lloyd (2004), Odendahl (1990), Ostrower (1995),

Panas (2019 [1984]), Prince and File (1994) all report respondents describing the pleasure they derive from philanthropy. Prince and File (1994) are alone in discerning any element of altruism, loosely defined as “free of self-serving motivations” (Prince and

File 1994: 80), among their respondents; and even among these altruistic respondents are some who see their philanthropy as linked with personal development.

Tax was not revealed by elite respondents as a consideration in philanthropic decisions (Odendahl 1990; Panas 2019 [1984]; Prince and File 1994; Scaife et al. 2011) though some philanthropists indicated a preference that their money be their own to spend, rather than see it be spent by government (Ostrower 1995; Prince and File

1994).

As a counterweight to the emphasis on philanthropists benefiting causes that reflect their own interests, a further theme emerged from the reviewed studies. This related to philanthropists’ concern with making significant change. Breeze and Lloyd

(2013), Lloyd (2004), Ostrower (1995) and Panas (2019 [1984]) explain how respondents suggested the scale of some problems, particularly those related to poverty, was beyond their ability to have an effect or achieve significant change.

Recent commentaries on Western elite philanthropy

In addition to the empirical studies of elite philanthropists themselves discussed in the previous sections, published in the last decade, have been a number of books offering commentary and criticisms of elite philanthropy. It is important to note that with exceptions these works are not strongly empirical. While they may cite secondary data the authors have themselves not conducted any primary research. The exceptions are Buchanan (2019), Fleishman (2007) and McGoey (2015) who draw from interviews of staff and volunteers of foundations, though not philanthropists themselves. A further caveat is that, with the exception of Bishop and Green (2010), their focus is on US philanthropy and philanthropic foundations rather than individual philanthropists.

These works, nonetheless, have become central to the discourse around elite philanthropy. For that reason, a brief review is offered.

Some of the themes that emerge in this literature relate to perceptions that structures around philanthropy in the US enable the elites to have an undue influence over philanthropy, that their philanthropy benefits themselves, that they are unaccountable, that the tax structure which provides incentives for philanthropy reduces government expenditures for social benefit and that philanthropy is not democratic. These, of course, are not new debates (see, for example, Arnove 1980;

Fisher 1983). Another theme that relates to the hyperagency of the elite will be returned to in Chapter Five (Section 5.5.1) and in Chapter Eight (Section 8.3) dealing with findings of the present research.

In a wider literature, there are many descriptions and explanations regarding particular characteristics of US philanthropy which are sometimes summarised in the concept of American Exceptionalism (Acs 2013; Bremner 1988; Fack and Landais 2012;

Payton and Moody 2008). In addition, there is a history surrounding the distinctive form of US nonprofit corporations and foundations and the regulations which surround them which is particular and is different to other Western regulatory frameworks (Acs

2013; Brody 1997; Hall and Marcus 1998; Levy 2016; Reich 2016). Zunz (2012) provides an example of the Rockefeller Foundation being denied a tax exemption on the grounds that its charitable purpose was not recognised in England. Generalisations, therefore, which may be applicable to US philanthropy are to varying degrees less so elsewhere. There is a discussion of the particular forms that traditional philanthropic endowments have taken in India later in this chapter (Section 4.5), They are not unsurprisingly different given their basis in very different traditions and norms.

The one theme from this recent literature that appears to have saliency across cultures is that of hyperagency. Bishop and Green (2010) bring the concept into the discourse as part of the explanation for the neologism, philanthrocapitalism which is the title and central idea in their work. “As hyperagents, the super rich can do things to help solve the world's problems that the traditional power elites in and around government cannot,” they say (Bishop and Green 2010: 262). In the book, they give a number of examples of Indian philanthropists to whom this label is applied such as Azim Premji,

Anil Argawal and Vinod Khosla.

Others of the recent commentators argue that the displacement of a role that governments ought to have in solving social problems is problematic (Giridharadas

2018; McGoey 2015). Allied to this argument is another concerning the lack of accountability of the elite to democratic processes (Acs 2013; Callahan 2017;

Giridharadas 2018). Giridharadas (2018), however, balances these views by citing

Horvath and Powell (2016) who argue that elite philanthropy, particularly the disruptive philanthropy practised by newly wealthy entrepreneurs can also be contributory to government efforts. Callahan (2017) additionally argues that elite philanthropy can fill needs when declining state funding is insufficient. Reich (2018b:

158) takes this a step further, suggesting, “…foundations serve as a democratic society’s

‘risk capital’, a potent discovery mechanism for experimentation". Buchanan (2019) makes a similar point, arguing that foundations are the societal actor with the most freedom to solve social problems.

Reich has developed an argument through several publications that a benefit of philanthropy is that of pluralism (Reich 2014; Reich 2016; Reich 2018a, b). The notion of pluralism in philanthropy dates back to at least the Filer Commission who explain it as “ [T]he deeply rooted American conviction that no single institutional structure should exercise a monopoly on filling public needs” (Commission on Private

Philanthropy and Public Needs 1975: 12). This view is endorsed by Callahan (2017) and by Fleishman (2007), who adopts the analogous term polyarchy.

Related to the government displacement argument is an argument that the tax deductions claimed on philanthropic gifts are reducing the revenue available to

governments to provide social programs. Acs (2013) and Zunz (2012) explain the history of tax deductibility in order to present the meachanism in positive terms, as a continuing incentive for philanthropy. Acs (2013) describes the US estate tax as particularly effective for encouraging philanthropy. McGoey (2015), Reich (2018a) and

Villanueva (2018), however, present a counterargument based on the proposition that much of the philanthropy of the wealthy flows to causes that benefit them, while little goes to the disadvantaged.

These commentaries provide a range of views both supportive and critical of elite philanthropy. They do not, however, explore the motives and actions of individual philanthropists and with the exceptions do not draw on any primary empirical data in making their arguments. Additionally, with the exception of Bishop and Green (2010), they are writing about American Foundation philanthropy which is guided by norms and traditions different to other Western as well as non-Western cultures.

Two Israeli studies

The only published research into elite philanthropy outside of a Western country, are two studies conducted in Israel (Schmid et al. 2009; Shimoni 2008). The studies interviewed only Israeli participants of whom none were Muslim or Christian.

The research by Shimoni (2008) was specifically limited to mega donors from banking, venture capital or high-tech industries who manage their own privately funded grantmaking funds. Shimoni reports discovering the seven patterns identified by Prince and File (1994). Additionally, he identifies five specific motivations which he enumerates as “collective identification; taxation and marketplace positioning; a desire to give back to the society in which they were educated and established their wealth; 27

peer pressure and isomorphism; identity motivations and a search for meaning”

(Shimoni 2008: 44-45).18 He also discerns what he describes as patriotic philanthropy among his respondents—primarily of a national-Zionist type” (Shimoni 2008: 74).19

The research by Schmid et al. (2009) found strong factors behind giving for their respondents were a family history of giving, education, and values of giving learned at home (52%), a sense of the need for philanthropy (30%), their religion (15%), and gratitude (5%). The authors summarised this as that “the main motives for philanthropy were a sense of responsibility for one’s surroundings, a sense of satisfaction, a crisis (political, social, or economic) that requires people with resources to be involved, a sense of belonging to the community, and the desire to promote certain issues” (Schmid et al. 2009: 39). Motives related to social standing or prestige ranked particularly low. Causes supported were education and welfare (by 62% of respondents); followed by health related causes (21.51%), social change (20.25%), culture (15.00%), higher education (13.92%), and, finally, religion (11.39%).

Contemporary philanthropy in India

The study of contemporary Indian philanthropy is in its infancy and its literature is dwarfed by the study of philanthropy in the US and the growing number of studies in the UK, Australia and Israel. There have been no extensive interview-based academic

18 Isomorphism is a term Shimoni explains as “a process by which local players adopt Western practices, behaviors and concepts and adapt them to their local environments”. He cites DiMaggio, P., and W. W. Powell, 1983. “The Iron Cage Revisited: Institutional Isomorphism and Collective Rationality in Organizational Fields,” American Sociological Review, 48: 147–160.

19 Shimoni (2008: 74) explains this further as “the interviewees’ attempt to generate social cohesion and create a sturdy and strong collective ... [they] invest primarily in social and communal projects based on accepted collectivist discourses of identity”.

studies involving Indian elite philanthropists as respondents prior to the present research.

An ethnological study of contemporary elite philanthropy in India

One of the very few scholars who have investigated elite philanthropy in India is

Bornstein (2006); (2012) who conducted ethnographic research in New Delhi investigating elite, middle class, expatriate and diaspora philanthropy. Bornstein (2012) presents three case studies based on interviews with members of the elite.

One is an interview of a member of a wealthy Delhi family who distribute dãn daily outside their home and, as well, provide a free clinic for the poor through their family owned hospital. Dãn, also dãna or daan, is a word used in a range of South Asian contexts and languages and has a range of meanings associated with the concept of giving or charity. The term dãn features throughout this thesis as it is core to understanding the distinctive nature of contemporary Indian philanthropy. Bornstein’s second case involves the wife of a wealthy sugar-mill owner who had run her own orphanage and other social schemes around her family’s factory. The third case was a successful businessman who, in retirement, founded a temple and a school in a poor rural community. A participant in the present research is related to this businessman

(See Section 8.2.2).

In her discussion of each of these three cases, Bornstein emphasises the disinterestedness and non-reciprocity of the actions of the participant. Bornstein and other scholars discussing dãn in its contemporary context take the view that dãn is normatively non-reciprocal—given without the expectation of return (Bornstein 2006,

2012; Copeman 2011; Eck 2013). The discussion of dãn as historically non-reciprocal and disinterested will continue in Chapter Three.

Other literature on contemporary Indian philanthropy

The earliest explorations of contemporary Indian philanthropy are two slim booklets authored by Sundar (1997a, b) and another by Kapoor and Sharma (2000), all published by Sampradaan—The Indian Centre for Philanthropy, which Sundar then led as executive officer. Sundar is another example of a philanthropoid contributing to the wider study of philanthropy. The first scholarly contributions came in a volume edited by Hewa and Hove (1997) followed by further contributions in Ilchman et al. (1998).

These two collections mark the beginning of an interest in non-Western philanthropy as a field of study.

Sundar is an historian by training. Subsequent to the works mentioned above, she has written three important books. The first two (Sundar 2000, 2013a) are explorations of the philanthropy of India’s business owners from the nineteenth century until the present time. 20 Her third book provides a broader analysis and critique of contemporary Indian philanthropy (Sundar 2017). Another book, by Kassam et al.

(2016), offers a broad view on Indian philanthropy, including the philanthropy of the middle classes and of individuals at the bottom of the pyramid.

All of these four works (Kassam et al. 2016; Sundar 2000, 2013a, 2017) discuss elite philanthropy. None, however, offer any significant information derived directly from philanthropists themselves. Kassam et al. (2016) draw upon research that one of the co-authors had initially published separately (Jansons 2013, 2015). Jansons conducted research interviews and says she benefited from other meetings and discussions with philanthropists, their foundation staff and other professionals working

20 The second of these two works draws on and updates the previous.

in the sector. Only a small number of her research interviews were, however, with individual philanthropists. 21

Recent greater interest

In the present decade a greater interest in Indian philanthropy and, in particular, corporate philanthropy and the philanthropy of the wealthy has begun to emerge. This has occurred during a time when the Indian economy has strengthened, and the wealth of some Indians has increased enormously (Chancel and Piketty 2017). Much of the literature is grey literature, which is not peer reviewed; and, for the most part, it consists of reports researched and written by wealth advisory services. The most notable among these have been a series of eight reports produced since 2010 by the wealth management specialists, Bain & Co (Bhagwati et al. 2018; Sheth 2010, 2012

2013 2014, 2015; Sheth et al. 2013; Sheth et al. 2017; Sheth and Singhal 2011). Also, contributing to the discourse are studies focusing on new approaches to social investment and philanthropy among wealthy Indians (John et al. 2012) or Indians along with Asians more generally (John 2013, 2014, 2015; John et al. 2013). All this grey literature provides useful insight into contemporary trends in giving by wealthy Indians, though fails to connect this to a deeper historical or sociological context.

In addition to this grey literature there have been academic papers exploring aspects of CSR in India. Control and ownership of most business in India is in the hands of individuals (Afsharipour 2010; Chanana 2011; Kumar 2014; Majumdar 2014;

Ramachandran and Jha 2009). Added to that is the fact that most CSR takes the form of

21 Jansons very kindly shared the list of the respondents with whom she conducted her research interviews with the researcher.

corporate philanthropy (Godfrey et al. 2017), making these studies of CSR directly relevant to elite philanthropy.

Corporate philanthropy (which is really elite philanthropy, given the dominant ownership structure) has a long history in India (Afsharipour 2013; Agarwal 2008; Birla

2009; Godfrey et al. 2017; Kassam et al. 2016; Sundar 2000, 2013a). Godfrey et al.

(2017) explain that the institutions and norms described through ethnology and historiography connect the philanthropy practised by historical elites—particularly merchant elites—to contemporary elite philanthropy.

In many cases, wealthy, business dynasties such as the Tata, Bajaj, and Birla families have been practising some form of corporate philanthropy, directed at the local communities around their plants and facilities since their businesses were founded. For example, in 1917 the English social reformers, Sidney and Beatrice Webb were asked by

Dorab Tata to advise on providing social welfare, medical and other services for the workers and families in Jamshedpur, the home of Tata Steel (Lala 2004). Gandhi’s concept of trusteeship had huge influence over these business families, many of whom aided the Independence movement and subsequent nation building (Sharma 2009).

Gandhi and trusteeship are discussed in Chapter Four (Section 4.8).

Mohan (2001) traces the development of modern day CSR in India to a series of seminars in 1965, chaired by the then Prime Minister, in which it was said that every business had a responsibility to itself, to its customers, workers, shareholders and the community. A background paper (Kumar 2004) produced for a 2004 National Seminar on Corporate Social Responsibility suggests that both an International Finance

Corporation report (Prakash-Mani et al. 2002), and the then current version of the UN

Global Compact (Wynhoven and Wendland 2004) were influential at the time of the

National Seminar. All three of these sources—the conference paper, the IFC report and the Global Compact—emphasise improving local economies as an objective for CSR in developing countries. By 2004, 95 Indian companies had backed the Global Compact, slightly less than in Brazil, but considerably more than in China (Kumar 2004).

Afsharipour (2013) provides a succinct update on the above explaining how in

2009 the Voluntary Guidelines for CSR (Government of India 2009) were produced; followed in 2011 by National Voluntary Guidelines (Government of India 2011). In 2011, state owned entities, which include 300 of India’s largest corporations22 were required to adopt the Guidelines and undertake “at least one major project for development of a backward district” in order to contribute “significantly in the long run to socio- economic growth in all the backward regions of the country” (Afsharipour 2013: 213).

Most recently, there has been considerable interest in business philanthropy and the effect of recent legislation in the form of the Companies Act 2013 (Government of

India 2013a), which requires 2% of profits to be spent on CSR. Research into the effectiveness of this legislation on or any changes to the patterns of CSR activities is still at an early stage. One outcome of note is that Dharmapala and Khanna (2018) and

Varottil (2018) report that companies that gave more than 2% of net profit towards philanthropy have reduced their spending since the Act was introduced, whereas others have increased their spending to the mandatory amount. Some business owner participants in the current research reported they had been spending over 2% long before the Act.

In contrast to the stipulation for state owned businesses to consider backward regions, most family business CSR activities mostly remain focused, as had been

22 See a listing at http://www.bsepsu.com/list-cpse.asp.

traditional, on activities local to the business plants and facilities. Clause 135 of the

Companies Act 2013 (Government of India 2013a)—as did earlier Voluntary Guidelines

(Government of India 2009)—in fact, propose that the company shall give preference to the local areas around where it operates. It in any case makes sense that corporately managed activity remains close to where corporations have staff able to undertake it.

Most family business CSR activities are managed in-house—meaning the money is not dispersed to independent NGOs—and is overseen by committees which are likely to have a majority family representation (Ramachandran and Jha 2009).

Causes supported through philanthropy

There is little room for doubt in the available literature that the causes most supported by Indian elite philanthropists (including through their corporate philanthropy) are the education, health and livelihood of the poor, and that education is the most supported of these. Table 2.1 is offered as evidence of this.

Notwithstanding the variety of sources, categories and methodologies that lie behind the findings reported, there is a remarkable consistency regarding these three as being the most favoured causes.

Table 2.1: Causes supported by Indian philanthropists

“With its roots in religious giving, philanthropy in India (Blake et al. 2009a: has long tended to mean donors funding temples and 2) schools in their villages of origin”. “Rather than creating an isolated school or hospital, new (Bukhari 2013: 50) generation philanthropists are looking at issues like education and healthcare more broadly”. 1) Education 2) Development and poverty alleviation 3) (Chanana 2011: 8) Health. “Education, healthcare services, rural infrastructure, (Das Gupta 2007: development, community welfare, environment 642) protection, relief and emergency assistance, preserving

art, heritage, culture, religious and a host of other issues”. “Disproportionate funding toward education”. (Dasra 2013: 8) “Poverty, health and care of the elderly and the young (Francis et al. 2010: are strongly supported”. 116) “Healthcare, education, rural development, sanitation, (Gautam and Singh microcredit, and women empowerment”. 2010: 50) “Poverty, health and care of the elderly and the young”. (Francis et al. 2010: 116) “Education, health care and livelihoods”. (Kassam et al. 2016: 73) Education, health and livelihood initiatives. “Other” (Kumar 2014) initiatives listed included six different areas including drinking water, rural development, hunger and malnutrition, youth engagement, sports, and arts and culture. “Education as the most popular sector (attracting 33% (Mahmood and of their contributions in 2010), followed by Santos 2011: 74) development and poverty alleviation (attracting 16% of their contributions in 2010)”. After community development, education (including (Rai and Bansal skill development) attracts the largest share of CSR 2014) expenditure. Health is also a major area where firms like to invest. “In addition to education, community development and (Reddy et al. 2012: healthcare are the next most popular primary issues 13) supported by UHNWIs”. 23 “The most popular causes are education, housing and (Sheth and Singhal shelter, and food —with an overwhelming 40 per cent 2011: 3) recognizing education as the top cause”. Education remained the top charitable cause but there (Sheth 2012 : 8): 8 was also a large jump in support of food and clothing projects. The top two areas of concern for philanthropists in (Sheth et al. 2013: 2012—providing food and clothing and supporting 1) education. The most popular philanthropic causes are education (Sheth 2015: 11) and child welfare A 2010 ASSOCHAM study which showed the top five Cited by Sundar areas for CSR as, in descending order, community (2013a: 258) welfare, education, environment, health care and rural development. CSR initiatives in microfinance, environment, health, (Sundar 2013a: 257 education, women’s empowerment, livelihood - 258)

23 UHNWI is the acronym for ultra high net worth individuals and is used internationally to mean individuals having a net worth of at least USD $30 million.

promotion, sanitation, HIV/AIDS, childcare, slum improvement, disaster management and agricultural development found favour in that order. From impressionistic evidence as well as surveys such (Sundar 2017: 193) as the Bain & Co’s annual reports, it is clear that education, healthcare and the promotion of and livelihoods remain the favourite causes. Education and healthcare are today’s major foci. The (Sundar 2017: 234) environment, arts and empowerment of women are other popular areas. Education, healthcare, population, gender issues, (Viswanath and natural resource management, energy and enterprise Dadrawala 2004: development 10, quoted in Francisco-Tolentino (2010: 89))

One notable difference requiring comment is that Rai and Bansal (2014) and

(Sundar 2013a) describe community development ahead of education. The data in both cases, however, relates to CSR spending only. The precedence of community development very likely is a classification anomaly which also reflects the tendency discussed above (Section 2.3.3) of businesses to fund programs in the communities surrounding their business activities (Ramachandran and Jha 2009; Reddy et al. 2012).

In addition to the causes shown above, Sundar (2017) indicates that new areas for philanthropy are emerging. She describes these as think tanks, alternative media,

NGO capacity building and human rights, including Dalit rights,24 legal aid, and for the humanities and social sciences.

24 A word in the Marathi language of Western India, “Dalit” means “broken up,” “ground to pieces,” or “oppressed.” Popularised by Dalit leader Dr. B. R. Ambedkar during India’s colonial period, the term is the self-identification preferred by those seeking to internationalise issues of caste discrimination. In domestic Indian politics, the term also is commonly, although not uniformly, utilised. (Source: Bob (2007). Dalit rights are human rights: Caste discrimination, international activism, and the construction of new human rights issue. Human Rights Quarterly, 29(1), 167-193.)

Motivation

Various authors provide examples of the motivations suggested by their research of Indian philanthropy. These are provided in detail in Appendix C. As is invariably the case with attempting to draw such suggestions together into a coherent typology, a problem arises in that the various descriptions fall into different logical types. However, a general summary of motivations for Indian philanthropy described in the literature is as follows:

• Connection with a cause

• Faith

• Family

• Financial motivations (e.g., tax benefits)

• Giving back

• Joy of giving

• Life change

• [To] memorialise self or others

• Political reasons

• Self-interest

• Social responsibility

• Social affiliations / social capital

The State and philanthropy

Among contemporary Indian philanthropists, patriotic motivations such as those which were significant during the pre and post-Independence eras have declined, say both Sundar (2017) and Kassam et al. (2016). Sundar (2013a, 2017), however, believes 37

the state continues to play a critical role in shaping philanthropy. One way in which the state is involved has been through offering tax incentives25.

Sidel (2007, 2019) finds that the prevailing tendency of discussion and legislation in India appears to be towards restricting tax exemption and deductions.

Kassam et al. (2016), however, suggest tax incentives ought to be widened beyond the existing principles which are restricted to activities for poverty relief, education, medical relief, and the advancement of any other object of general public utility.

Johnson (2010), Reddy et al. (2012) and Sheth (2010) also argue that changes to the tax exemption regime would encourage more giving. Some empirical evidence for the effect of tax exemption on high net worth individual (HNWI) philanthropists was offered by

Sheth (2015) who found receiving a tax receipt was the second most important expectation of NGOs by HNWI donors. Sundar (2013a) in contrast, cites a 2008 survey

(Times of India 2008) which found that more than half of companies surveyed were unconcerned by the government’s proposal to abolish Section 80 G of the Income Tax

Act, which provided tax benefits for funds allocated to development projects: those unconcerned, she suggests, “did not think the proposal would have any impact or were not very concerned about it” (Sundar 2013a: 325). On balance, Sundar suggests that “… while tax incentives are important, they are so only at the margin …” (ibid.). She also considers that tax incentives have led to flouting of these rules—for example, hospitals,

25 For example, under Section 80G of the Income Tax Act (1961), donors obtain a 50% tax deduction from their taxable income (or 100% deduction in the case of certain institutions like the National Trust for Welfare of Persons with Autism, Cerebral Palsy, Mental Retardation, and Multiple Disabilities, the National Association for the Blind, the Family Planning Association of India, etc) for contributions mad to charities for “relief to the poor, education, medical relief and the advancement of any other object of general public utility.”

schools and colleges have been established to gain tax relief, rather than for reasons of altruism (Sundar 2013a).

Sundar (2013a) is also critical of the fact that business may have philanthropic objectives on the one hand and commercial objectives that contradict them on the other,

“more often industrialists, whilst throwing up a factory after factory, have ignored environmental considerations … Even as they built schools and temples” (Sundar

2013a: 321). In support of this contention she cites Singer (1972 quoted by Sundar

(2013: 322)) who contends that “Indian businessmen compartmentalise business and religion as two separate spheres”.

Summary and conclusion

This chapter has identified the research gap on which this investigation is focused, namely the absence of detailed qualitative research into the nature of Indian elite philanthropy. The chapter began by identifying and reviewing the existing empirical interview-based studies of elite philanthropy which are, apart from two studies from Israel, explorations of Western philanthropy. None explore philanthropy which is predominantly influenced by other than Christian or Jewish traditions, institutions and norms. A notable characteristic of Western elite philanthropy, which emerges from research, is that consumption philanthropy—that is support of institutions, organisations and causes which benefit the elite themselves—is the most prominent (Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish 2000a).26

26 The research done of Israeli elite philanthropists does not suggest significant consumption philanthropy and instead suggest a focus on nationalist and political concerns.

Existing research of elite philanthropy in India is limited in scope. A recent ethnological study of elite giving in Delhi (Bornstein 2012) suggests a pattern of disinterestedness and non-reciprocity which contrasts with findings on western elite philanthropy. The remaining literature on Indian philanthropy and CSR includes discussion of elite philanthropy, yet lacks significant data obtained from interviews of philanthropists themselves. Little of any research links with the ethnology or historiography of India to connect current practices with past traditions. The existing research, though, suggests that the philanthropy of the Indian elite, whether actioned through personal mechanisms or through CSR, is directed primarily at improving the education, health and livelihood of the poor.

The next chapter will add weight to the findings of Bornstein (2012) by exploring literature related to the theory around dãn, a specifically South Asian pattern of giving, which explains it as being disinterested and non-reciprocal. The chapter will then relate this to theories of altruism.

DÃN, ALTRUISM, RELIGION AND PHILANTHROPY

Introduction

This chapter explores literature related to the theory around dãn, a specifically

South Asian pattern of giving, which explains it as disinterested and non-reciprocal. The chapter will then relate this to theories that explain altruism in terms similarly reflecting disinterestedness and non-reciprocity. In an exception to the existing body of studies of elite philanthropy this investigation focuses on philanthropy whose structure is additionally influenced by the dharmic—Hindu, Buddhist, Jain and Sikh traditions within which dãn is located. A hypothesis which is being explored through this literature is that dharmic as well as Muslim and Parsi religious norms differentiate

Indian from Western elite philanthropy.

Studies of Dãn

One of the very few scholars who have investigated elite philanthropy in India is

Bornstein (2012) who conducted ethnographic research in New Delhi. In her discussion of each of three cases she presents, Bornstein emphasises the disinterestedness and non- reciprocity of the philanthropic actions of the participants. Bornstein in this and her previous work (Bornstein 2006), takes the view that that dãn is normatively non- reciprocal. That dãn is given without the expectation of return is also agreed by

Copeman (2011) and Eck (2013) in their discussion of dãn in the contemporary Indian context.

The scholarship around the history and meaning of dãn is rich, yet the ethnography of Bornstein (2006, 2012) and Copeman (2009, 2011) shows how aspects and articulations of dãn, as a virtuous and disinterested gift, are embedded in 41

contemporary social practice. That dãn is a part of colloquial discussion and the word is used in English conversation and media as a synonym for charity or philanthropy is also noted by other authorities (Kapoor and Sharma 2000; Majumdar 2014). Despite the fact, however, that dharmic scriptures contain many references to dãn, Agarwal (2010) has pointed out few, if any, Indians today have a comprehensive understanding of the ancient and intricate traditions of dãn.

Copeman (2011: 1067) explains how contemporary articulations vary considerably from what he describes as “classical” dãn and he gives examples of organisations and campaigns which make use of the language of dãn to encourage donations. Bornstein (2012) writes that current conceptions of dãn can be explained as both charity and philanthropy. The former she explains is impulsive and spontaneous, and the latter structured, regulated and accountable; and, like Copeman, tries to explain and contrast this with classical dãn and the rich literature surrounding it which is discussed in the next section.

In his book, subtitled The Forgotten Pot of Gold, Agarwal (2010) specifically encourages Indian NGOs to contextualise fundraising approaches around the rich traditions of dãn. The re-articulation of dãn is not a recent phenomenon since, for example, Kasturi (2010) describes how transformations and reconfigurations of dãn were used by reform movements in the pre-Independence era. This aspect is discussed in Chapter Four (Section 4.8) with reference to Gandhi’s concept of trusteeship.

Marcel Mauss and the literature on the non-reciprocity of dãn

Lévi-Strauss (1987) describes The Gift (Mauss 2002 [1950]) as Mauss’s masterwork, the influence of which has been the greatest of all his writing. Parry wryly notes:

Mauss’s essay has acquired for anthropology many of the qualities of a sacred text. It is treated with reverential awe, the greater part of its teaching is ignored, and it is claimed as the fons et origo 27 of quite divergent theoretical positions. (Parry 1986: 455).

It has had a rich impact on both the wider field of philanthropy studies (for example Benthall 2012; Hands 1968; Homans 1958; McGoey 2012; Ostrower 1995;

Silber 1998; Singer 2008; Titmuss 2018 [1971]; Veyne 1992). A significant part of the rich discussion of Mauss in the social sciences relates specifically to India and dãn

(Bornstein 2006, 2012; Copeman 2011; Dirks 1993; Eck 2013; Gregory 1997; Haynes

1987; Laidlaw 2000; Michaels and Pierce 1997; Nath 1987; Parry 1986, 1994; Raheja

1988; Rudner 1987).

The main part of Mauss’ work draws on observations of ritual giving28 among

North American Indian and Pacific Māori cultures. However, he also included findings drawn from Sanskrit scriptures, the Laws of Manu and the Mahabharata in his discussion. The main conclusions that Mauss draws are that gifts remain inalienated from and retain the spirit of the thing given or, in Māori, hau, and that gifts are reciprocal

—the spirit always returns to the giver. However, Mauss (2002 [1950]) included a footnote which Trautmann (1981, cited in Michaels and Pierce (1997)), described as remarkable. This footnote suggests Parry (1986: 461), indicates that Mauss was

“uneasy” in extending the notion of reciprocity to dãn. Mauss’s footnote reads:

Concerning the main subject of our analysis, the obligation to reciprocate, we must acknowledge that we have found few facts in Hindu law, except perhaps Manu VIII, 213. Even so, the most apparent fact is the rule that forbids reciprocity. (Mauss 2002 [1950]: 179-180, n61)

27 Translated from Latin means source and origin.

28 The term used by Mauss is prestation (see also footnote 36 on p.45).

A fertile debate about this footnote has ensued in the social sciences which distinguishes between sacrificial, ritual and other forms of giving. This debate acknowledges the proposition by Mauss that the spirit of the thing given, which in parts of his findings relating to sacrificial giving is characterised as impurity (or, in some commentaries, poison), may be contained in and transmitted by the gift. However, unlike a sacrificial gift, when the intention is to be rid of the impurity, some argue that an element of reciprocity may be inherent in dãn when interpreted as charitable or philanthropic giving (Hénaff 2003; Michaels and Pierce 1997; Parry 1986; Silber 1998).

Others, though, such as Bornstein (2012) and Copeman (2011) argue that dãn, as a form of charitable and philanthropic giving commonly practised in India today, is performed without expectation of reciprocity. Dirks (1993), Heesterman (1985), Michaels and

Pierce (1997), Trautmann (1981) and others argue that Mauss erred in taking too narrow a view of dãn by interpreting it only within theological contexts. As Trautmann

(1981:279) says, Mauss has concerned himself with a “soteriology, not a sociology of reciprocity”. 29

The relevance of dãn to philanthropy

Three discussions of Mauss (2002 [1950]) offer worthwhile theoretical insights especially relevant to philanthropy. Hénaff (2003) discusses the moral gift; Michaels and Pierce (1997) analyse Mauss’s discussion of the non-reciprocity of dãn by analogy with a contemporaneous, traditional ritual form of greeting, abhivãdanadharma; and

Silber (1998) draws on Mauss to find analogy with modern American philanthropy. All

29 Soteriology means relating to the doctrine of salvation. Trautmann was using the term loosely to draw attention to Mauss’s bias towards the theological context.

these three discussions acknowledge a tradition for the non-reciprocity for dãn, in certain circumstances.

Hé naff (2003) discusses the possibility of fallacy in evaluating altruistic or moral

(altruism is discussed further in Sections 3.3 and 3.4 )giving by the standards of soteriological or ceremonial giving. He, however, rebuts this proposition stating, “only by correctly establishing the speciﬁcity of the latter can the nature of the moral gift be understood” (Hénaff 2003: 308). The importance of the ceremonial gift, he argues is that it demonstrates that giving is a social and communal act. Hénaff (2003) offers a brief survey of the literature on gift exchange in which he distinguishes three types of gift relations. Firstly, there is the ceremonial gift which is part of the social life of traditional societies—this is the gift exchange central to the discussions of Mauss (2002

[1950]) and Malinowski (1960 [1922] ). Secondly, is what Hénaff (2003) describes as the unilateral, politically motivated gift from a sovereign (this in the Indian context is the equivalent of the subject of exploration by Dirks (1993)). Finally, is what Hénaff

(2003: 313) calls “the individual gift of the moral kind made by the free decision of the donor”. He relates this kind of giving to the generous gift discussed in the Nicomachean

Ethics”. He then draws attention to the “asymmetrical gift” (Hénaff 2003: 310) the gift between unequal parties which cannot be reciprocated: “the act of generous benevolence from a highly placed figure towards an inferior” (Hénaff 2003: 311).

Michaels and Pierce (1997) also call attention to the soteriological rather than the sociological basis of Mauss’s material. They, as well as Heim (2004), are also highly critical of the narrowness of the sample of the Hindu scriptures from which Mauss derives his theory, as well as the limited chronology during which these particular scriptures were significant. In the opinion of Michaels and Pierce (1997), reciprocity

was normative in everyday life regardless of religious tradition. They suggest that there are other reasons and contexts for non-reciprocity. With regards to passing on the poison in the gift,30 they dispute the general application of the principle. Instead, they ascribe the notion of non-reciprocity to a culture of asceticism which was gaining hold among brahman priesthood as the society around them became prosperous during the era of the particular scriptures on which Mauss relies. That is to say, in the late Vedic era from when the scriptures were formed, society was becoming richer and the gap between rich and poor becoming more noticeable.31 At the same time, brahman priests provided a model of asceticism that contrasted with the growth of luxury and avarice and which may have encouraged the adoption of a model of disinterested and non- reciprocal giving (see also Brick (2009); Heesterman (1985)).

Michaels and Pierce (1997) provide an alternative to Mauss’s interpretation of

Hindu law by providing their own analysis of scriptural rules of giving. From their analysis they derive seven main criteria for dãn. They then turn their attention to rules of greeting as described by the same scriptural sources. Again, they derive seven criteria which are closely analogous to the criteria for dãn. This, they say is not surprising because both acts—giving and greeting—are communicative acts “exposing oneself to the receiver ... providing him the choice between a culturally and socially accepted or unacceptable response” (Michaels and Pierce, 1997: 259). The rules for both gifts and greetings are “basically norms for proper behaviour on the part of the newly initiated twice-born” (Michaels and Pierce 1997: 253). In this view soteriology blends with

30 They use the term defilement.

31 The Vedic era was approximately 1500 – c. 500 BCE. The scriptures Mauss studied were the Manusmirti a portion of the Vedas, the oldest sacred dharmic texts, composed during this period.

sociology for the educated, twice-born caste member.32 The inference Michaels and

Pierce (1997) make is that the teaching and examples provide by dharmic scriptures, provided the norms that determined behaviour in educated—which, in the terms of this thesis, includes elite—society.

On the important point of reciprocity, Michaels and Pierce (1997), however, make the point that gifts and greetings part company. Not to return a greeting is rude, even aggressive. The norms of reciprocity for gifts in normal society (i.e., not soteriological ceremonial gifts) depend on the circumstance. Tips to servants, alms to the needy and gifts to small children are not generally reciprocated. Gifts between socially equal adults more often are. Hence there is a hierarchical element to the norms of gift reciprocity. They go further, however, and say that disinterested altruistic gifts or, what they call open handedness, illustrate yet another class of gifts, which in the context of the present research of elite philanthropy seem highly pertinent:

The open handedness that came under the particular purview of kings, the aristocracy and the rich softened unpleasant suspicions of illegitimate power and wealth. Wealth legitimates itself through open handedness, endowments and patronage, not through avarice, extravagance or miserliness. Through acts of generosity and charity, a portion of the surpluses that have been generated in common but not shared equally is voluntarily distributed (Michaels and Pierce 1997: 261).

Michaels and Pierce (1997) do not conceive any tangible benefit to the kingly donor, instead they suggest an intangible reciprocal benefit analogous, perhaps, to the conceptual licence to operate,33 which is perceived to be an objective of today’s

32 In the Hindu system of varnas, the three highest categories are described as twice-born - the Brahmin (priests and teachers), Kshatriyas (warriors), and Vaishyas (merchants).

33 The notion of license to operate relates to concepts such as legitimacy and reputation, and in the modern corporate sense to support from stakeholders and corporate social responsibility/performance (see Salzmann et al. 2006).

corporate philanthropy in India and elsewhere (Chahoud et al. 2007; Salzmann et al.

2006). Dirks (1993) provides a comprehensive study of the role of gifts to and from kings and rulers in maintaining polity and social order (See also Appadurai 1977;

Godfrey et al. 2017; Heim 2004; Iyer 1999).

Silber (1998) applies Mauss’s gift theory to modern day North American philanthropy. In particular, she identifies two of Mauss’s points that are relevant to modern day philanthropy. The first of these is Mauss’s paradox of, what she calls,

“interest and disinterest” (Silber 1998: 136).34 The second is what she describes as “the deeper intermingling of the donor’s identity with the gift that is transferred” (Silber

1998: 138).35 She undertakes her analysis with reference to what she calls “the three- fold sequence of obligations (the obligation to give, accept, and return)” (Silber 1998:

138). What Silber refers to is stated by Mauss as:

The institution of 'total services'36 [which] does not merely carry with it the obligation to reciprocate presents received. It also supposes two other obligations just as important: the obligation, on the one hand, to give presents, and on the other, to receive them (Mauss 2002 [1950]: 16-17).

To explain the paradox of interest and disinterest in the gift, Silber (1998: 139) points to “the many virulent critiques of philanthropy (often in the Marxist mode)”. At this point, she cites Arnove (1980) and Fisher (1983) who impute hegemonic motives to elite philanthropy. Later she describes, “more moderate attacks” which claim that philanthropic giving is a “convenient, self-serving, and self-righteous way for the social

34 The paradox she describes is what Mauss describes as “… apparently free and disinterested but nevertheless constrained and self-interested” (Mauss 2002: 4).

35 Here she is referring to the spirit in the gift—the hau (in Māori).

36 Total services is the translator’s term for prestations used by Mauss in the original.

elite to avoid taxation, display its financial superiority and, last but not least, finance its very own exclusive range of educational, cultural and leisure institutions” (Silber 1998:

140). Here she is referring to Odendahl (1990) and Ostrower (1995), whose work was discussed in Chapter Two (Section 2.1).

Silber points out that, though these latter critiques might be accurate, the elite philanthropy critiqued violates the three-fold sequence of obligations. The gifts of the elite, she suggests are not reciprocated directly to the donor by the beneficiaries—not even by the educational and cultural institutions that Odendahl (1990) and Ostrower

(1995) point to as the main recipients of elite philanthropy in the US. The benefits—and

Silber does not dispute the likelihood of benefits to the donor—may, however, come, as

Michaels and Pierce (1997) suggest, in indirect and even intangible form. Silber (1998:

141) says, “Such rewards are not expected from the recipient” and “are not the main impulse for giving”. It is this lack of immediate reciprocity that she gives as her example of the paradoxical disinterestedness of the modern American philanthropist. The findings of the present research will suggest that indirect and intangible benefit, as suggested by Michaels and Pierce (1997) and Silber (1998), including licence to operate, is derived by some study participants from their philanthropy.

The explanation that Silber gives regarding the spirit of the thing given relates to

“the deep connection between the gift and the donor’s identity” (Silber 1998: 141). She ascribes this in part to the nature of modern American fundraising, where asking and giving often occurs between social and professional peers. She also notes, consistent with the statement above related to Odendahl (1990) and Ostrower (1998) about philanthropic giving financing its own “exclusive range of educational, cultural and leisure institutions” (Silber 1998: 140) that giving is localised to environments and

institutions “where donors and recipients know each other quite well” (Silber 1998:

143). Because philanthropic gifts are typically made within the milieu of the donor, the donor’s identity (spirit) remains closely associated with the gift. Far from becoming detached from the gift, the identity of the donor does seem thus to lend its imprint and remain attached to the gift, which in fact often becomes a vehicle for that identity and a mechanism for its self-definition and expression (Silber 1998).

There are, undoubtedly, examples where elements of the identity of philanthropists are intertwined with their giving. Bill and Melinda Gates are nowadays more identified with their concern for diseases such as HIV and malaria than their former identity as the couple at the head of Microsoft. Examples in Australia would include Dick Smith, known for his support of young people; Andrew “Twiggy” Forrest, as a supporter of indigenous issues and, more recently, the movement against modern slavery; or the late Dame Elisabeth Murdoch, for her support of the arts. In India, Azim

Premji and the Bharti Mittals, for education; or Rohini Nilekani, for her work related to water, provide examples. In all the cases just given, the mechanism for embedding the identity of the donor in their philanthropy has been the creation of some kind of named foundation. Silber (1998) points to a more common mechanism for embedding the donor as the spirit of the thing given, that of the memorialising gift. Examples are the named building, chair or scholarship, familiar to patrons of educational and cultural institutions.

A further corollary of the spirit of the thing given remaining embedded in the gift,

Silber suggests, is the concern that recipient organisations have concerning tainted donations: “from a donor considered ethically dubious or threatening” (Silber 1998:

142). Yet another example that Silber advances in support of the argument for the

identity of the donor adhering to the gift is the propensity for donors to be rewarded with roles as board members of institutions they support.

A final point suggesting that Mauss remains relevant in discussions of philanthropy is made by Silber (1998) and others (Hénaff 2003; Parry 1986). This point is the congruence between the emergence of the notion of individual interest—as opposed to the collective interest of the primitive societies described by Mauss (2002

[1950])—at the same time as large scale philanthropic giving continues to develop. “Far from being mutually undermining”, Silber (1998: 146) argues, capitalism and philanthropy seem to have “developed a relation not only of coexistence, but even of mutual, if dialectic, support”.

Lastly, Mauss (2002 [1950]) himself in the conclusion of his essay ruminates on how disinterest mingled with self-interest appears as a pattern among at least some enlightened Europeans. He notes that giving, combining generosity and self-interest are reappearing in French society. He also praises the rich who see themselves freely and by obligation as financial guardians of their fellow citizens.37 The concept translated as financial guardians is close to notions of stewardship and trusteeship which occur in discussions of philanthropy, in particular, those relating to Carnegie and Gandhi (See below Section 4.8).

Altruism

Bornstein (2006) has contributed a chapter to a study of altruism which she firmly frames within a discussion of the non-reciprocal nature of dãn. She explains that

37 In the original, Mauss [Mauss, M. 1923. Essai Sur Le Don: Forme Et Raison De L’échange Dans Les Sociétés Primitives. L'Année sociologique (1896/1897-1924/1925), 1, 30-186] uses the phrase “trésoriers de leurs concitoyens [co-citizens]”.

her ethnographic investigation of dãn in contemporary India leads her to the conclusion that dãn is a form of donation that is given to others with whom the donor has no social relationship and given without expectation of reciprocity. Bornstein (2006) introduces her argument about dãn, altruism and non-reciprocity with the memorable story of a wealthy American organ donor who, in an interview with the New York Times (Strom

2003) discusses the possibility of making a second kidney donation—an action that would prove immediately fatal. This comparison between dãn and organ donation merits comparison with Copeman (2009, 2011), who explains how blood donation in

India is, in fact, framed as a form of dãn.

The history of the term altruism

The term altruism is considered to have entered the social science lexicon when first used by Comte (Habito and Inaba 2006a; Levy 2016; Scott and Seglow 2007).38 For

Comte (1875, cited by Levy 2016), altruism was a biological fact and its antithesis was egoism—he derived his theory from observations of animal behaviour and speculations about human physiology. Another of the founding fathers of sociology, Durkheim adopted a different stance in his discussion of altruism. He saw altruism and egoism as both innate to an individual and embedded in each other (Durkheim 2003), unlike the dichotomous concept proposed by Comte (1875). The difference between the two types of behaviour is their direction. Egoism is centripetal and does not flow beyond the person; altruism is centrifugal and overflows: “the centers around which it gravitates are outside of him” (Durkheim 2003: 249). Although a core understanding of altruism is generally accepted, it is treated differently by different academic disciplines. Piliavin

38 Comte coined the phrase out of the French legal usage le bien d'autri, meaning the good of others (the root is the Latin alter, meaning other).

and Charng (1990) and Scott and Seglow (2007) provide comprehensive explanations of the different disciplinary perspectives.

Evolutionists, mainly drawn from the biological sciences, are concerned with the tension between altruism and natural selection (survival of the fittest). Evolutionists bypass “perhaps the most distinctive feature of altruism in human beings: a person’s motivation to assist others” (Scott and Seglow 2007: 3). In other words, they leave out any moral dimensions; whereas, philosophers Williams (1972) and Nagel (1970) argue that altruism is fundamental to any morality. Conversely, as Lee (2014: 312) says

“morality is the foundation upon which altruism and solidarity are built”. Psychologists have investigated personality traits and circumstances which appear either to engender or inhibit altruism. Economists and behaviourists explore mechanisms of individual behaviour which mediate between self-interest (egoism) and altruism. Anthropologists and sociologists, in particular those influenced by Mauss (2002 [1950]) and Malinowski

(1960 [1922] ), consider ideas of reciprocity and exchange that suggest that reciprocal giving promotes social bonds.

Different models of altruism

A prominent contributor to the contemporary theorisation around altruism and reciprocity is Gouldner (1960), a sociologist, who argued there is an altruism in egoism, made possible through reciprocity: “if you want to be helped by others you must help them”.39 Another contributor is the economist Becker (1974, 1976), who developed a

Rotten Kid theory—that even an egoistical child has to simulate altruism, by pretending to be willing to share resources, in order to maximise what they will receive from the

39 In reaching this conclusion Gouldner draws, in particular, on Durkheim and Malinowski.

head of the family. Another economist, Andreoni, builds on an observation by Becker

(1974: 1083; quoted by Andreoni 1990: 464) that “charitable giving may be motivated by a desire to avoid scorn of others or to receive social acclaim”. Andreoni (1989, 1990) has developed a model of giving that is reciprocated by the feeling of a warm glow: he calls this model of giving impure altruism. Each of these, arguably, can be regarded as variations of Mauss’s (2002 [1950]) paradox of interest and disinterest.

A particular view of altruism was taken by Titmuss (2018 [1971]) who argued that voluntary blood donation is an avenue for altruism, which he describes as giving to strangers. Titmuss’s research was partially intended to contrast to the US market-based system of blood collection, which he described as less efficient and costlier, with the UK system of voluntary blood donation, which he strongly advocated. The main criticisms of Titmuss’s concern the bias in his conceptualisation and promotion of altruism as oppositional to the market mechanisms which—as a declared socialist—he specifically disdains in the US practice of blood collection (Scott and Seglow 2007). Notably, though, the model of blood donation in India as a form of dãn that is virtuously disinterested and philanthropic is explored by Copeman (2009, 2011) (See Section3.2).

Altruism and reciprocity: The Golden Rule

Ignored by Piliavin and Charng (1990) though not by Scott and Seglow (2007) or

Habito and Inaba (2006a) is the discussion of altruism and reciprocity in religion, philosophy and ethics. Habito and Inaba (2006a) draw attention to the paucity of literature exploring altruism in religion and draw together a volume of research, including Bornstein (2006) discussed above (Section 3.3) concerning dãn.

According to Scott and Seglow (2007), altruism and religion are commonly jointly expressed in some version of the Golden Rule. In the Christian tradition the

Golden Rule is expressed “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”

(Matthew, Ch. 7, v. 12; Luke, Ch. 6, v.31.); in the Jewish tradition one version appears as

“what is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbour” (Talmud, Shabatt, 31a);

Confucianism teaches, “Try your best to treat others as you would wish to be treated yourself” (Mencius, VII A.4).40 In Islamic beliefs Parrott (2017: 75) draws attention to, among other sources “treat people the way [you] would love to be treated by them”

(Ihya’ ‘ulum al-dın, 4: 163) and “be gentle and offer charity and good conduct” (Ihya’

‘ulum al-dın, 4: 212, 215). Bakker (2013) proposes that the Christian Golden Rule is inherent in the dharmic concepts dharma and ahimsa (non-violence).41 In each of these expressions of a universal Golden Rule is an expectation of an intangible, even other worldly, reciprocity related to the altruistic action of doing good: good deeds are rewarded, if not on earth then in heaven.

Paton and Moody (2008) equates the concept serial reciprocity, that had been initially explicated by , with the Golden Rule. Serial reciprocity argues Moody (2008), offers a way to discuss reciprocity in other than the structural terms used in social exchange research (for examples ). 42[ Serial reciprocity is "...embodied in the meaning rather than merely the structure of exchange" (Moody 2008: 36). Serial reciprocity embodies instances such as when a philanthropist makes a gift to acknowledge the generosity of others - possibly anonymous others - who may have provided them with support earlier in their own lives. An example given by Moody is that of Carnegie who

40 These quotations from Scott and Seglow 2007: 6 – 7.

41 For an explanation of dharma refer Chapter Four (Section 4.2).

42 The term serial reciprocity was first coined by the economist Boulding, K. E. 1973. The Economy of Love and Fear: A Preface to Grants Economics, Belmont, CA, Wadsworth Pub. Co. 55

prolifically funded libraries around the world in recognition of the formative influence of books on him and other "working boys" (Carnegie 2009 [1920]: 30). The concept is frequently explained by philanthropists as giving back (Payton & Moody 2008, Moody

2008) which is a term frequently used in India as the English vernacular for dãn (See

Chapter Seven Section 7.4.2 and 7.4.3).

Altruism and religion

Wuthnow and Hodgkinson (1990) edited a volume on the relationship of religion with philanthropy in the US. They begin:

The world’s great religions speak with one voice about compassion. Believers are counseled to love their neighbors as themselves. Mercy and kindness are taught universally (Wuthnow and Hodgkinson 1990: xiii).

Wuthnow and Hodgkinson (1990) may not be entirely right. Concepts of duty rather than love appear to drive altruism in some non-Judaeo-Christian religions. 43

The earliest tradition of altruism of which anything is known is that of the ancient

Middle East. A tradition of benevolence rooted in Bedouin principles of hospitality to strangers predates Islam and Christianity (Ibrahim 2008; Zeitlin 2007). Bolkestein

(1939), however, offers earlier empirical evidence of a duty to the good of others— inscriptions of the arai Bouzygeaiai, traditional curses from Ancient Egypt, “levelled on those who would not give water to the thirsty, fire to someone in need of it, burial to the unburied, or directions to the lost” (Parkin 2006: 66). South Asian, dharmic scriptures

43 Judaeo-Christian is used in the sense explained by Harvey (2016) to differentiate this particular religious tradition from any of the other religions, in which he includes Buddhist, Hindu, Islamic, Sikh, and Zoroastrian (Parsi). The collection of papers of which his is a part provide rich insight into the origins and uses of the term: Nathan, E. & Topolski, A. (eds.) 2016. Is There a Judeo-Christian Tradition?, Berlin: De Gruyter.

also emphasise duty (dharma) rather than love, be directed to fellow men (Bakker

2013; Bishop 1975; Ellwood 1982; Manimala 2009). See Chapter Four (Section 4.2) for an explanation of dharma.

Concepts related to love, suggests Davis (1996), emerged in Christian thought in the 4th century CE in the work of Ambrose and Augustine. Moreover, in Christianity love was extended to all, including the poor—in contrast with classical Greece and Rome, where the poor and others outside an individual’s household or social class were not considered deserving of charity (Bishop and Green 2010; Bolkestein 1958; Hamel 1990;

Hands 1968; Parkin 2006; Tarn and Griffith 1966; Trever 1939; Veyne 1992). Eight centuries later, in 12th century CE Thomas Aquinas44 melded Aristotelian love of friends

(philia)45 with Christian love of all (Davis 1996; Schervish 2006, 2007, 2008, 2014a, b;

Schervish and Whitaker 2010; Scott and Seglow 2007). In his Summa Theologica

Aquinas stated:

Indeed, so much do we love our friends, that for their sake we love all who belong to them, even if they hurt or hate us; so that in this way, the friendship of charity extends even to our enemies who we love out of charity in relation to God, to whom the friendship of charity is chiefly directed (Aquinas, Summa Theologica quoted by Davis 1996: 20).

Love, especially love of all, appears from this brief review of related literature to not be the universal concept that inspires altruism: a duty of another sort may be a stronger driver in some traditions. There does, however, appear to be confluence in world religions with regard to a concept of intangible reciprocity related to altruism

44 See Davis (1966:19) on how the introduction of Aristotle, largely through the work of Aquinas “burst on the culture of the emerging universities like a dam breaking”.

45 The friendship or philia (the Greek root of philanthropy) Aristotle speaks about is explained by Schervish (2008, 2007, Schervish & Whittaker, 2010) as “friendship love”. See also Chapter Five (Section 5.2.3).

commonly expressed as the Golden Rule (Bakker 2013; Lee 2014; Scott and Seglow

2007).

The significance of religion to the discussion of altruism in an Indian context is made clear by Madan (2004: 204) who states, “Religion in the Indian cultural setting traditionally permeates virtually all aspects of life… in an integrated, holistic perspective”. Furthermore, a line of scholars from Weber (2015 [1958]) through

Giddens (1984), including scholars of Indian philanthropy (Bornstein 2012; Kapoor and

Sharma 2000; Lala 2011; Majumdar 2014; Muniapan and Raj 2014; Osella 2018; Sundar

2000, 2002, 2013a, 2017) all point to the importance of understanding religious and social practices in order to understand contemporary practical conduct. Kassam et al.

(2016) and Sundar (2013a) suggest many leading industrialists, the class from which most of India’s elite philanthropists are drawn, have been influenced by Hindu religion and religious figures. Majumdar (2014), Muniapan and Raj (2014) and Sundar (2013a) all suggest that religious thought and traditions continue to influence contemporary corporate philanthropy.

Altruism in philanthropy

Levy (2016) traces the adoption of the term and debate of the concept altruism in philanthropy to Spencer (1870, 1879); and then its introduction and subsequent popularity in American discourse via Andrew Carnegie.46 Spencer, Levy explains, suggested a continuum between three sentiments: the egoistic sentiment, the egoistic- altruistic sentiment and finally the altruistic sentiment. In Levy’s own paraphrase,

Spencer explains the egoistic sentiment as “individual selfishness rooted in the

46 The Scottish-American industrialist, business magnate, and philanthropist who lived from 1835 – 1919.

evolutionary struggle for existence” (Spencer 1870 cited by Levy 2016: 34). Spencer, however, believed that altruism would prevail and presented the altruistic sentiment as evolving past the egoistic-altruistic sentiment towards “the philanthropy of modern times” (ibid). “By the 1980s,” Levy (2016: 37) writes, “the concept and evolutionary logic of altruism coursed through American philanthropic discussions”.

Carnegie was profoundly influenced by Spencer. In his autobiography he writes,

“I was one of his disciples” (Carnegie 2009 [1920]: 170) and describes that from Darwin and Spencer he had “got rid of theology and the supernatural [and] had found the truth of evolution.” (Carnegie 2009 [1920]: 173). As Levy (2016: 37) explains, “Carnegie earnestly believed that, through his private action, primordial egoism was evolving into civilizational altruism” (Levy 2016: 37). Levy traces how interest in the concept altruism in Western philanthropy grew through the late 20th Century, exploring how egoism and altruism interacted with morality and politics. The culmination of this, Levy says, was the Commission on Private Philanthropy and Public Needs (1975),47 which identified an altruism among the American public of which public policy should take heed.48 The importance of this discussion in the Indian context is that as Sundar (2013a) suggests that founder of the Tata foundations, Jamsetji Tata, was influenced by Carnegie; as was the concept of trusteeship developed by Gandhi (Chakrabarty 2015) which this thesis shows has been highly influential on elite philanthropy. Trusteeship is discussed in

Chapter Four (Section 4.8).

47 Often referred to as the Filer Commission.

48 In particular, public policy related to taxation policy.

Atkinson’s weak altruism

An additional insight into the nature of altruism and its intersection with philanthropy is offered by Atkinson, a law scholar. Atkinson’s (1990) contribution is to introduce the concept of weak altruism, initially as a response to the categorisation of types of nonprofit organisation by Hansmann (1980). Hansman was interested in how nonprofits are financed and by whom they are controlled.49 Atkinson added a third dimension—the locus of benefits provided by nonprofits—to Hansman’s (1980) categorisation; and, thus, highlighted the relationship between donors (i.e., how nonprofits are financed) and the beneficiaries of their gifts. Given this additional dimension it became possible for Atkinson to identify altruism. Furthermore, as he states, in terms similar to Andreoni (1989, 1990):

The altruism I have identified need not be subjectively pure. The donors I have described may be motivated wholly or in part by a desire for fame, a good name, divine favor (now or hereafter), or some other “selfish” concern. In this sense, I have identified a “weak” form of altruism. What is distinct about my donors is not that they give without gain, but that any satisfaction they derive from giving is not in the form of a material quid pro quo for their donation. (Atkinson 1990: 526)

Atkinson does not refer to Andreoni, or Silber (1998) and her explication of the paradox of interest and disinterest apparent in Mauss (2002 [1950]) (Section 3.2.2), yet appears to have arrived from a different direction to similar conclusions.

Atkinson (1990) additionally introduces what he calls parentalism into the concept of altruism. He suggests two types of parentalism. The first wishes to increase the consumption of a particular good. This, for example, assumes a market failure which

49 Hansman was chiefly concerned with a market failure theory of nonprofits as a principle justification for their treatment under tax law.

makes the particular good—say education or food—unavailable or unaffordable. The altruist then donates with the intention of correcting that market failure. The second type deals with another problem, overconsumption. In this case overconsumption of something considered bad such as “smoking, drinking, drugs, pornography, and commercial sex” (Atkinson 1990: 525).

Altruism as motivation

A review by Piliavin and Charng (1990) is often cited in research relating to charity and philanthropy (For example, Acs and Phillips (2002), Andreoni (1990),

Sargeant (1999), Sargeant and Woodliffe (2005), Schervish and Havens (1997),

Simmons (1991)). Piliavin and Charng (1990: 29) conclude that most of the literature they reviewed points to that fact that “altruism is part of human nature”. Their paper is cited by Simmons (1991) to state that emerging consensus suggests that both egoism and altruism motives exist in prosocial behaviour. She adds: “In my view, altruism has nobility and should not be trivialized. Nor should it be discounted even if not

‘pure’”(Simmons 1991: 15).

Schervish and Havens (1997), however, take a rather different view of altruism as a motivation. They summarise the arguments reviewed by Piliavin and Charng

(1990) and the work of Becker (1974) discussed above (Section 3.3.2). From this position, and with the data that they obtained from the Study on Wealth and

Philanthropy (Schervish and Herman 1988) they developed their identification model saying:

Empirically, the respondents [to the study] simply do not frame their motivation in terms of altruism or self-interest. Since it is not the absence of self that characterises the motivational edifice of donors, it is not pertinent to refute the possibility of selflessness. Instead, the findings suggest an identification model of engagement in which the type and degree of empathetic identification with the needs of others generates philanthropic commitment. (Schervish and Havens 61

1997: 238)

Chapter Four discusses the identification model described in the above quotation in more detail and explains how it provides the conceptual framework in which the present research is based.

Summary and concluding remarks

This chapter has taken a close look at two related bodies of literature. One is related to dãn, a concept which, as noted above (Section 3.2), is closely entwined with contemporary philanthropy in India. The second is related to altruism, and the two concepts are combined by a theory that dãn, unlike other forms of giving, is a way of giving to strangers without expectation of return. In particular, it focuses on literature which discusses and develops how Mauss (2002 [1950]) treats dãn as an exception to his general theory that gifts retain the spirit of the thing given and are reciprocal; as well as literature which situates Mauss in relation to contemporary philanthropy.

In the discussion of altruism, authorities recognise the concept as broadly meaning doing something for another without expectation of reciprocity. The Golden

Rule, which exists in most major religions, nonetheless, is advanced as an example that suggests an at least notional expectation that good deeds may be intangibly rewarded.

Andreoni (1989, 1990), Atkinson (1990), Becker (1974, 1976) and Gouldner (1960) offer different examples of intangible, weak reciprocal expectations. An analogy is drawn with Mauss’s paradox of interest and disinterest.

In the remainder of this research the term altruism is used to identify patterns and practices of philanthropy where the actions are directed towards others without expectation of direct reciprocity. This usage embraces Mauss’s paradox, as well as

concepts such as impure (Andreoni 1989, 1990) weak altruism (Atkinson 1990), allows the possibility that egoism may be intertwined with altruism (Gouldner 1960); and, admits an alternative possibility (to be discussed in Chapter Five) that such actions represent “self-interest rightly understood” (De Tocqueville 2006 [1966]: 377). Before that discussion, the next chapter reviews the literature of India’s history and traditions as they relate to institutions and norms of Indian philanthropy.

HISTORY AND TRADITIONS

This chapter provides a review of literature of India’s history and traditions that relate to significant institutions and norms of Indian philanthropy. The development of endowments and trusteeship as key institutions of philanthropy is located within its historic framework in this chapter. A tradition of giving to the poor is shown as having been grounded in scriptures and religious practices from the earliest known sources. A body of literature that covers the interaction and integration of Islamic, Christian and dharmic norms is critiqued. The chapter also analyses literature which traverses the influence of British rule, and the emergence of Indian Nationalism leading to India’s

Independence; from this era, a further key institution, the Gandhian concept of trusteeship is explicated. A tradition of support for higher education is also discussed.

Earliest evidence of endowments and giving to the poor

The scholarship of traditional Indian prosocial giving is mostly based on anthropological studies which draw on scriptures and inscriptions as secondary sources. This is a testament to the fact that the ancient scriptural traditions are preserved and accessible to scholars. The earliest scriptural evidence of the practice of giving to the poor in India dates it to the Vedic Period of Indian history around 1500

BCE. The Vedic and later dharmic scriptures contain many references to dãn as an essential aspect of dharma (Brick 2009; Kane 1941).50

50 Ancient dharmic beliefs considered artha, karma, moksha and dharma the four chief aims of life on earth. The first three are often explained as “wealth”, “reward” and “freedom from rebirth” respectively. Dharma is sometimes explained as “duty.” A more detailed discussion of its meaning is found in Section 4.2.

Inscriptions are not only more tangible but also more empirically credible than scriptural evidence of the nature of giving in Ancient India. Inscriptions are public engravings in copper or stone that have endured through time, while scriptures were transmitted orally and perhaps mutated. The earliest inscriptions date from the 5th and

6th centuries CE (Kane 1941; Majumdar 1920; Reddy and Natarajan 2011). In this era many of the inscriptions detail gifts to temples and for the feeding of monks and brahmin; however, many refer to water and irrigation with descriptions of endowments that fund tanks and wells. According to Kane (1941), gifts for the use of the public were regarded as more meritorious than gifts which were made for religious reasons. Many of the donations and endowments recorded in inscriptions were from kings, however, others were from guilds and village assemblies, and some also were attributed to individuals. Appendix D provides examples of these ancient endowments as recorded through inscriptions.51

Many of the inscriptions include curses intended as warnings against contravening the intentions of the endowment as Reddy and Natarajan explain:

They vary from simple warnings to severe abuses and thus mirror the then existing society and social values. The number of such passages in an inscription varies from one to half-a-dozen and rarely ends without an imprecation. Appearance of fresh and additional imprecations in inscriptions must be construed as the donors on their part trying hard to protect their charities since the practice of abuse of grants continued due to paucity and lesser intensity of earlier imprecations (Reddy and Natarajan 2011: 52).

51 “Guilds”, says Majumundar, seem “to be a quite common feature in the economic system of post-Vedic India. A close study of the literature of this period clearly indicates that men following a similar means of livelihood usually formed themselves into a corporation with definite rules to guide themselves.” Majumdar, R. C. 1920. Corporate Life Ancient India, Calcutta, University of Calcutta. (pp. 13-14).

An explanation of dharma

In the previous section, dãn was referred to as an essential component of dharma, so an explanation of dharma is appropriate. Ancient dharmic beliefs, in particular as represented in the Mahabharata, considered artha, karma and moksha

(explained by Kapoor and Sharma (2000: 6) as “wealth”, “reward” and “freedom from rebirth” respectively); and, dharma the four chief aims of life on earth (Kapoor and

Sharma 2000; Kassam et al. 2016; Muniapan and Raj 2014; Rolnick 1962). Dharma is the most difficult of these three concepts to explain in Western terms. Birla (2009) explains how this difficulty became a challenge for jurists during the British era (See

Section 4.5). The writer Gurcharan Das (2012) says:

Dharma is a frustrating and untranslatable word. Duty, goodness, justice, law and religion all have something to do with it, but they fall short. I think of it chiefly as a concern for doing the right thing, both in our private and our public lives (Das 2012: Foreword).

Das continues, “Just as one cannot understand America without the idea of liberty, so one cannot understand India without the idea of dharma ... The founding fathers of the Indian republic were so deeply concerned with dharma that they insisted on placing the symbolic wheel of dharma in the Indian flag” (Das 2012: Foreword). Kane

(1941: Vol. II Part II p. 888) is, however, unequivocal: “the word dharma when used in relation to gifts had a well recognised meaning and not a vague uncertain one”. He explains that the gifts required for dharma are clearly prescribed in Laws of Manu (IV

227). Manu is a scriptural source frequently cited for its typology and theology of forms of giving and was the source for Mauss’s exposition of the inalienability and non- reciprocity of dãn discussed in the previous chapter (Section 3.2.1). Gifts for dharma are of two types, ista and purta. Ista are ceremonial gifts, while purta include gifts to the

public such as tanks, wells, pools, temples, distribution of food and gardens (Heim 2004;

Kane 1941).

Islamic confluence with endowments and giving to the poor

By the 12th century CE, Islamic hegemony was a significant factor for the Indian subcontinent, although trade and cultural exchange dates to at least the 5th and 6th centuries CE, the time of Muhammad.52 In the 11th century CE military incursions from

Ghur, in Afghanistan led to the establishment of Islamic political authority in North

India. In the early 13th century CE an independent Sultanate with its capital at Delhi was established. That Sultanate was replaced with another Islamic power, the Mughals, who ruled most of the subcontinent until the early 18th century CE and then were gradually displaced by resurgent native powers and European colonising forces. The

British eventually took sovereignty over all of India in 1857.53

The literature is sparse in respect of the impact of these centuries of Islamic rule on the practice of giving in India. The picture that emerges is that the Islamic rulers and their successors did not to any great extent interfere with existing religious giving practices (Haynes 1987; Jain 2012; Kozlowski 1985; Singer 2008). It seems that Muslim rulers gave gifts to dharmic temples and priests (Jain 2012; Kozlowski 1985) while non-

Muslim notables reciprocated with gifts to Muslim shrines (Kozlowski 1985) and offered gifts to and tributes to their Muslim rulers (Haynes 1987). Hindu, Buddhist and

Jain practices adapted to analogous Muslim precepts, even adopting Muslim

52 The Prophet Muhammad was born c. 570 CE and died 632 CE.

53 Britain’s sovereignty in India was established on 28 June 1858, when, after the Indian Rebellion of 1857, the rule of the British East India Company was transferred to the Crown. It lasted until Indian Independence and the Partition in 1947.

terminology (Kozlowski 1985). Writing only of the Jain community, Jain (2012) describes how community leaders negotiated and legitimised their religious traditions.

Various accounts chronicle Jain religious leaders receiving praise and support from

Muslim Sultans and Governors (Jain 2012).

This is not surprising given the similarity of dharmic and Islamic gifting institutions and suggests common or even universal antecedents. The norms of Islamic philanthropy are established by the Quran, which was a synthesis of Middle Eastern religious beliefs (Baldick 1990; Zeitlin 2007). The Quran mandates support for the poor and the needy through zakat (obligatory gifts) and sadaqah (voluntary gifts).

Endowments, or awaqf 54, under Islam were traditionally established for mosques and for public works like schools, hospices, soup kitchens, fountains, bridges and roads

(Arjomand 1998; Azhar 2010; Singer 2006; Taylor 2015). As discussed, (Section 4.1) ancient Indian endowments (see Appendix D), long before Muhammad and succeeding caliphates promulgated awaqf, were providing the support for temples, scholars, and water supply. Dãn, despite its multitude of categories, had similar principles and largely comparable beneficiaries to zakat and sadaqa.

An especially emblematic practice analogous between the two religious traditions is described by Singer (2008). A tradition of dãn specific to royalty involved them giving to brahman priests the equivalent of their own weight in gold or silver

(Agarwal 2010; Copeman 2011; Parry 1989). Its Muslim equivalent, the aqiqa ceremony where a baby’s hair is shaved and weighed then its weight in gold or silver distributed to the poor is represented by a painting of the fourth Mughal Emperor of India, Emperor

Jahangir Weighing His Son Khurram in Gold. Singer writes:

54 Waqf is a form of endowment in Islamic law. Its plural is awaqf.

For the Mughal sultans, there were obvious advantages to adopting an existing practice like the weighing ceremony. Since their subject population in the Indian subcontinent was not entirely Muslim, preserving the practice of weighing rulers incorporated a familiar action into Mughal ceremonial, perhaps demonstrating that the Islamisation of India was not only foreign but also familiar. Moreover, the weighing ceremonies were good theatre, easily described and broadcast to a population already accustomed to their shape and meaning. Adopting ceremonial charitable practices that were easily readable by a target audience was good politics for a regime seeking legitimacy (Singer 2008: 116).

Traditional Hindu endowments, also, were similar to and continued contemporaneously with Islamic awaqf during the period of Mughal dominance.

Linderman (2013) writes of the ancient South Asian practice of endowing rest houses for pilgrims, or chattram: “To establish a chattram, one had to not only build the structure, but also grant productive farmland attached to villages, the produce of which would underwrite and support the charity in perpetuity” (Linderman 2013: 194). In addition to providing rest, “these chattram and the endowments that supported them were complete social service agencies offering medical help, schools, orphanages and even grants towards funeral expenses” (Godfrey et al. 2017: 683). This description could equally serve as a generalised description of an Islamic waqf (see, for example

Singer 2006, 2008; Singer 2013).

Divergent attitudes to poverty after the arrival of Christian missionaries

After Islam, the arrival of European Christian missionaries was the next significant impact on charitable and philanthropic practices in India. Mercantile interests, including French and the Portuguese, began to establish themselves in India from the early 17th century CE. Western-style philanthropic and charitable institutions affiliated with Christian churches and missions followed in the wake of these mercantile establishments. Although the early Christians believed in giving alms to the poor (Grig

2006; Hamel 1990; Jordan 1959; Trever 1939), by the time Christian missionaries reached India in the 19th century CE, however, as well chronicled by Weber (2015

[1958]), Western charitable norms had transformed substantially.55 By that time British charity and philanthropy had been framed by the “demands of industrial society” (Owen

1964: 91). Consequently, many of the missionary societies and later, colonial administrators, held attitudes opposed to the distribution of indiscriminate alms which was how they saw indigenous practices of giving to the poor (Brewis 2010; Sharma

2001).

These missionary attitudes are reflected in the contention by Farquhar (1967

[1914]: 437) that despite “feeble” arguments to the contrary, “all well-informed men recognise that kindly philanthropic service was introduced to India by Christian missions”. A central premise for Sundar (2017) is the definition of the term philanthropy and the origin of the practice in the Indian context. In this Sundar is consistent with

Farquhar, in her work she identifies the origins of philanthropy in India as the 19th century CE (Sundar 2000, 2013a, 2017).

A counterargument, as Watt (2005: 97) suggests, is that Western philanthropic practices took root among Indians “because they coalesced with Indian approximations and this, in turn, allowed Indians to engage and refract them”. This, of course, is consistent with the manner in which dharmic and Islamic practices melded with each other (see Section 4.3). The debate may relate to definition. As Watt (2005) says, charity and philanthropy were Western terms. More likely, differentiation between indigenous and Western philanthropy may have arisen from sheer prejudice, as Brewis (2010) and

55 The earliest Indian contact with Christianity may have been with St Thomas, the Apostle around 52 CE. See Wikipedia: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_the_Apostle#. Accessed 7 November 2019.

Sharma (1996, 2001) point out. Farquhar, though very informed and sympathetic to

Hindu and other religious philosophy, was a missionary and therefore a proselytiser for

Christianity, therefore scarcely a disinterested commentator.

In her books, Sundar (2000, 2013a, 2017) makes a distinction between ameliorative charity, which is often ad hoc, and planned and organised philanthropy. In her latest book she enlarges on this distinction, describing philanthropy as “the planned use of wealth for transforming society for the good of all” (Sundar 2017: 2). This last book was published after the Companies Act 2013 (Government of India 2013a) with the result that Sundar (2017) further defines philanthropy as voluntary, in contrast to the mandatory CSR contribution introduced by the new law.

The Christian missionaries of various denominations who arrived in India provided education, health and welfare to the poor as well as intervention on behalf of neglected sections of society such as tribals and untouchables (Bayly 1973, 1983; Brewis

2010; Joshi et al. 2001; Kapoor and Sharma 2000; Mohanty and Singh 2001; Oommen

2004; Sen 1992; Sundar 2013a; Watt 2011).56 Indian merchants responded just as they had done as previous Islamic rulers came and went, by adapting their traditional giving practices and incorporating new norms into their philanthropy (Bayly 1973, 1983;

Haynes 1987, 1991; Palsetia 2005; White 1991).

British rule and new forms of regulation

The arrival of the East India Company is acknowledged as a milestone not only in the social and political history of India but also in the history of Indian giving and

56 Tribal(s) is the term commonly applied in India to describe its indigenous population. Untouchable refers to the caste later described as Dalit.

voluntary service (Das Gupta 2007; Godfrey et al. 2017; Mohan 2001; Watt 2011).

Whether they believed Indian philanthropy began under the influence of British rulers and Christian missionaries or gave credence to its roots in antiquity, the British did see opportunities to use philanthropy as a tool after they assumed sovereignty over the

Indian subcontinent in 1858.57 Colonial civil servants encouraged wealthy Indians to donate and attempted, without entirely succeeding, to shift traditional gifting away from what they felt to be indiscriminate giving towards useful charity for education, public buildings, and public works (Haynes 1987, 1991; Palsetia 2005). According to

Sundar (2000), “like their counterparts in the West, the newly rich business families began to set up trusts and endow a host of modern institutions such as schools, colleges, orphanages and widows’ homes, art galleries and museums for the welfare of society”.

Colonial rule also assured the conditions necessary for British Christian organisations to establish charitable institutions, including orphanages, schools, colleges and hospitals.

Birla (2009) outlines how the British colonial rulers attempted to regulate and manage, yet still preserve existing indigenous philanthropic traditions. The wealthy merchant families which are the subject of her study did not traditionally segregate their charitable and religious endowments from their commercial ventures. She explains how colonial trained jurists (British and indigenous) created new legislation to bring the traditional notion of the Hindu Undivided Family under the scope of colonial law; 58

57 The East India Company and its military forces, through conquest and treaty had control of most of the Indian sub-continent by the 1840s. In 1858 government of all the controlled territory became the responsibility of the British Crown.

58 Traditionally Hindu family business assets are jointly owned by all male descendants from birth. The term Hindu Undivided Family (HUF) is used in statutes and regulations to encompass this structure.

as well as drafting a legal framework for traditional endowments, including the custom of maintaining charitable endowments for family household deities.

A central premise of Birla (2009) is that the British legislative and regulatory endeavour was designed to differentiate religious and culturally driven economic activity from market-driven economic activity. New laws governing philanthropy were all products of this regulatory aim.59 The jurists and parliamentary draftsmen strove to create a regulatory rigidity in the place of the fluidity of dharmic and Islamic notions of gift and endowment.

New laws were also introduced for the administration of awaqf, the Islamic form of endowment (Kozlowski 1985). In drawing up the new laws, the colonial jurists recognised the charitable purposes of traditional endowments and family giving practices by distinguishing and separating their public and religious purposes for treatment under tax law (Birla 2009). Kozlowski (1985) and Birla (2009) give clear indication of the extent and significance of traditional philanthropic practices among the indigenous elite adding strength to the argument—contrary to Sundar (2017) and

Farquhar (1967 [1914])—that philanthropy was not a British implant.

Drivers of change

Indigenous giving in India changed as a new middle class and a wealthy industrial class emerged in the late 19th and early 20th centuries (Kassam et al. 2016).

The literature suggests that three principal drivers were involved throughout this

59 The 1886 Indian Income Tax Act, the Charitable Endowments Act of 1890, the Charitable and Religious Trusts Act 1920, and the 1923 Mussulman Waqf Act.

period: the response to famines; a growth in wealth that resulted from industrialisation; and, a proliferation of social and political movements.

The first of these drivers were the famines that occurred during the 18th, 19th, and early 20th centuries, which created visible need for philanthropy; and, debate about the form it should take (Brewis 2010; Sharma 1996, 2001). Much of the debate, involving both newly emerging Western educated Indian middle and professional classes and the British, was framed in the dialectic around indiscriminate alms giving.

This discourse, in turn, led to the development of organised relief efforts and the emergence of charitable social service associations of both Indians and British.

The second driver was that by the late 19th century CE, industrialisation and the wealth it created among the elite merchant communities had become a significant force in the growth and formalisation (in accordance with newly introduced British norms) of philanthropy (Cantegreil et al. 2013; Kassam et al. 2016; Sharma 2009; Sundar 2000,

2013a, b; Viswanath and Dadrawala 2004). One result was that new charitable trusts were endowed by the most prominent business families, such as Tata, Bajaj, Birla,

Godrej and Jeejeebhoy (Godfrey et al. 2017; Kassam et al. 2016; Sharma 2009; Sundar

2000, 2013a; Viswanath and Dadrawala 2004). These elite families continue to be among the most prominent in philanthropy today (Dadrawala 2003). 60

The third driver was the emergence of certain distinct and hugely influential social and political movements which paved the way to Independence (Bornstein 2009,

2012; Brewis 2010; Kasturi 2010; Mohanty and Singh 2001; Srivastava et al. 2004; Watt

2005, 2011). Most notable among these were Hindu religious reform movements such as the Brahmo Samaj, Arya Samaj, the Ramakrishna Mission; civic movements, such as

60 Descendants of three families named here were participants in this research.

Indian National Congress and the All India Muhammadan Educational Conference

(Chakrabarty 2015; Joshi et al. 2001; Kasturi 2010; Mohanty and Singh 2001; Naik and

Bhattacharya 2013; Tope 1978; Varadarajan and Chanana 2013; Watt 2011) and, post-

Independence, movements such as Sarvodaya Bhoodan and Gramdan (Kapoor and

Sharma 2000; Sen 1992; Sundar 1997a, 2000, 2013a). All these movements enjoyed the support and financial contributions of wealthy merchants and other members of the elite.

Under British rule in India, an English educated indigenous elite was schooled in the values of liberal traditions, the dignity of man and new notions of religion (Joshi et al. 2001; Srivastava 1998). This, though, led to only a partial internalisation of British values, at least in terms of philanthropy and voluntary service. Indians created new hybrid forms and took British influences in directions that subverted British claims to moral authority and legitimacy in India. Haynes (1991: 121) introduces into the discourse a concept the term “bilingualism”—not the ability to converse in both English and their native tongue, which the elite could—but to their ability to practice two distinct idioms of philanthropy. This meant some of the elite continued the colonial civilising mission, “though now it was a case of an Indian self-civilizing mission directed at Indian youth and the lower castes and classes, often referred to as the ‘Depressed

Classes’” (Watt 2011: 279).

“The cumulative effect of all these influences was the beginning of the movement for social reform on an organised basis,” writes Tope (1978: 46). Associations of Indians began to proliferate devoted to the “uplift” of the poor and disadvantaged classes and castes; but also supporting the funding of schools and universities, libraries and other educational activities (Joshi et al. 2001; Sundar 2000, 2013a; Watt 2005). These

associations tended to be “generally undertaken by urban elites of the upper castes, lower middle and middle classes” (Watt 2005: 3). The associations amalgamated dharmic with Western liberal traditions (Joshi et al. 2001; Kasturi 2010; Watt 2005,

2011). They were not necessarily friendly to the British, often there were close links between the civic activities undertaken and political objectives connected with the

Nationalist Independence movement.

Influence of Mahatma Gandhi

The emergence and impact of Mahatma Gandhi are to a large degree related to the last two of the three drivers of late 19th and early 20th centuries—the growth in wealth and the proliferation of social and political movements. The significance of

Gandhi to the present research is twofold. First, he was by birth and education part of the elite. Gandhi belongs to the bania (a merchant) caste and, as he states in his autobiography, for three generations members of his family have been prime ministers in several Indian states (Gandhi 2007). Secondly, he was extremely influential on the philanthropic behaviour of the elite. This influence, as is discussed in Chapter Thirteen

(Section 13.2.4), remains salient with participants interviewed during this research.

Gandhi was linked to the proliferation of social and political movements most directly through his association with Indian National Congress, and his posthumous influence on the Sarvodaya movement (Mohanty and Singh 2001; Rolnick 1962; Sen

1992; Watt 2011). The Sarvodaya movement adopted its name from a translation by

Gandhi of John Ruskin’s Unto This Last (Gandhi 1969 [1956]). Ruskin’s book had a significant influence on Gandhi as he developed his concept of trusteeship (Chakrabarty

2015; Mitra 2007). The influences that Gandhi drew his notions of trusteeship from are of particular interest because they represent a fusion of traditions. Chakrabarty (2015) 76

identifies four influences on Gandhi and trusteeship in addition to Ruskin—traditional

Hindu scriptures; Andrew Carnegie; English Law; and St Thomas Aquinas. To these Watt

(2011) adds Henry David Thoreau and Leo Tolstoy.

Wealth and trusteeship

Gandhi’s shrewd espousal of the concept of trusteeship, which fitted neatly with traditional merchant values, was instrumental in gaining the support of his prominent merchant family backers for Indian National Congress and the Independence movement

(Chakrabarty 2011, 2015; Rolnick 1962). The concept of trusteeship gained the support of the mercantile elite because, it re-modelled aspects of their traditional philanthropy as public (Birla 2009), in a sense that fitted with the colonial notion of philanthropy and the reforms to jurisprudence discussed above (Section 4.5). It also, paradoxically, fitted within the Nationalist discourse because it framed private wealth as an agent for public good (Chakrabarty 2015). The wealthiest among the elite merchant families—Tata,

Birla, Godrej and Bajaja—who were already contributing on a large scale to philanthropic projects saw the logic of extending their support to those associated with

Gandhi, Congress and the Nationalist movement (Birla 2009; Birla 2013; Das Gupta

2007; Rolnick 1962).

Private wealth in the dharmic tradition is regarded positively. In theoretical discussions of Indian philanthropy, wealth is usually framed using the Sanskrit term artha—one of the four principal aims of life (Kapoor and Sharma 2000; Kassam et al.

2016; Muniapan and Raj 2014; Rolnick 1962). These four principal aims are explained in Section 4.2. The acquisition of wealth is encouraged as a spiritual virtue, rather than, as in some Western ideologies, condemned as a vice. Birla (2009) quotes Parry (1989:

78 - 79) who suggests, “in Hinduism it is by no means easy to find parallels for such 77

biblical notions as the love of money being the ‘root of all evil,’ or as camels having an easier time getting through needles’ eyes than rich men getting to heaven.” Parry and

Bloch (1989) add to this point that under the doctrine of karma, the rich are considered to have deserved their good fortune. Wealth, however, comes with responsibilities. The

Mahabharata suggests that only by charitably distributing their wealth could individuals fulfil their dharma (Rolnick 1962). Sundar (2013a: 37) explains that “Wealth could not be spent according to the caprice or pleasure of the possessor but was to be used for the purposes of yanja (sacrifice), dãna (charity) and discharge of rna (debt)”.

Dumont (1980) cited by Vidal (2006: 389) describes a hierarchy in which artha is subordinate to dharma. See also the discussion of dharma above in Section 4.2.

Gandhi incorporated this thinking on wealth into his construction of trusteeship by insisting that wealth does not belong to the individual but is in trust and is to be used for the good of society (Eck 2013; Juergensmeyer and Mcmahon 1998; Kassam et al.

2016; Upadhyaya 1976). Carnegie (2009 [1920]) who it is said had an influence on

Gandhi (See Section 4.7 above) advocated that surplus wealth ought to be considered as in trust for the benefit of the community and that the creators of wealth had the responsibility to ensure its distribution. Carnegie’s name is often associated with the biblical concept of stewardship though this was not a term Carnegie used. Gandhi, however, coined the term trusteeship for his doctrine. Gandhi’s doctrine differs from

Carnegie in one notable way. Unlike Carnegie, or his latter day disciples joining the

Giving Pledge, Gandhi did not propose limiting the transfer of wealth between generations. To do so would run counter to Indian principles of inheritance (i.e. the

Hindu Undivided Family) and traditions of family endowments (See Section 4.5).

Chakrabarty (2015) points out that with trusteeship Gandhi was endorsing the

capitalism and self-interest of the merchant class. It should also be noted, too, that this thinking has also been attacked from the political left as an excuse to maintain the status quo in relation to poverty (Rolnick 1962; Sundar 2017).

Nationalism, philanthropy and education

India has prized scholarly institutions from ancient times (Agarwal 2006;

Béteille 2005; Tilak 2013) and giving to scholars and schools fits within the norms of dharmic (Agarwal 2006; Das Gupta 2007) and Islamic (Bayly 1983; Kozlowski 1998) philanthropy. As noted above (Section 4.5), the funding of schools and universities, as well as libraries and other educational activities by the Indian elite was a feature under

British rule. In the late 19th and first half of the 20th century CE, a significant amount of philanthropy was invested in Indian higher education. Creating institutes for higher education was seen by the elite an important aspect of Indian nation building. Their support fitted the concept of bilingualism proposed by Haynes (1991), as such support both courted approval of the British as well as fitted with the growing discourse of nationalism. Fourteen of sixteen non-religious trusts established by prominent merchant families during this era supported higher education (Kapur and Mehta 2007).

The first higher education institutes in India were university colleges (Agarwal 2006;

Béteille 2005). There is evidence that public donations played a part in funding at least some of these early institutions (Elphinstone College 2017; Grant Medical College and

Sir JJ Group of Hospitals 2018; Kochhar 2011). The first three universities were set up by the East India Company, (Ganachari 2008: 77) suggests in order to mould Indians “to suit the administrative and political imperatives of British rule”.

Echoing the above paragraph, Tilak (2013: Introduction) laments that indigenous scholarship was “wrecked” and replaced by a system “subservient to 79

imperial policy”. Evidence of Nationalist discontent with British control of universities is chronicled by Ganachari (2008). Nonetheless, local philanthropy seems to have played a part in the expansion of these first universities (Sarkar 2004). Nationalist sentiment and the influence of Gandhi, however, led subsequently to the creation with philanthropic support of universities with an Indian focus (Tilak 2013). 61 The poet Rabindranath

Tagore founded Visva-Bharati, a university aimed at synthesising Asian and Western cultures on land his wealthy family owned in Bengal (Guha 2011; Tilak 2013).

Fundraising for the Hindu University in Benares was led by Madan Mohan Malaviya, a prominent Congress leader and substantially funded by the industrial dynast and

Gandhi supporter, GD Birla (Kudaisya 1995). Social reformer DK Karve set up the first women’s university (Sundar 1996; Tilak 2013). The Anglo-Oriental College, a Muslim university, was founded by Sir Syed Ahmed Khan (Kozlowski 1985).62

Summary and conclusion

This chapter provided an overview of the institutions and norms of Indian philanthropy within the framework of its history. A tradition of giving to the poor is embedded in scriptures dating from around 1500 BCE. Evidence of endowments and the concept of an enduring trust can be traced to inscriptions from the 5th and 6th centuries

CE. Islamic traditions and beliefs melded with their dharmic analogues during the centuries of Muslim rule of various parts of the subcontinent. The arrival of Christian missionaries and later British colonial rulers introduced tensions regarding traditions of giving that were seen by the British as indiscriminate alms giving. Many of the

61 Universities created with the support or in honour of Gandhi were Gujarat Vidyapeeth, Kashi Vidyapeeth, Bihar Vidyapeeth, Tilak Maharashtra Vidyapeeth and Jamia Millia Islamia.

62 A descendant of Sir Syed Khan was a participant in this research.

educated Indian elite, however, adapted the norms of the British while at the same time continuing their traditional philanthropy. On their part, the British rulers created a legislative framework to incorporate indigenous endowments and traditional family giving traditions.

During the Indian Nationalist period which began in mid 19th century CE, the

Indian elite and increasingly prosperous middle classes jointly activated for social and political change. During the early 20th century Gandhi emerged as a prominent leader.

His chief influence on elite philanthropy was his development of a concept of trusteeship which was accepted, along with Gandhi’s Nationalist activism, by some of India’s wealthiest merchants and industrialists. Trusteeship has remained a significant institution in Indian philanthropy and CSR. Another element of Gandhi’s Nationalist activism was a concern and commitment for higher education. This led elite Nationalist supports both to funding the new universities introduced by the British; and, also, often with Gandhi’s support, creating new universities with specifically Indian objectives.

The next two chapters will explain first the theoretical model on which the findings from this research have been developed, then the methodology of the research and the methods used.

THE THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK

Introduction to the theoretical framework

In this chapter, a theoretical basis is identified which provides an ontological and epistemological grounding and a methodology for this research. The theoretical framework, which is given the name moral citizenship, merges elements of well established theorisation developed by Schervish and colleagues drawing on their extensive body of empirical research of wealthy US philanthropists (Schervish et al.

1998; Schervish and Havens 1997; Schervish and Havens 2001b, 2002; Schervish and

Herman 1988; Schervish et al. 2001). The theoretical framework identified has two components, one explained by Schervish as an identification model and, the other, a concept he described as a moral biography. These components are presented in this chapter under what Schervish describes as moral citizenship of care. The chapter will establish moral citizenship as a framework appropriate for the heretofore theoretically unexamined topic of elite philanthropy in India.

The model selected

Schervish and colleagues have produced the most developed theoretical models of the motivating factors that underlie the behaviours of elite philanthropists as individual actors. This present research draws on both what Schervish has described as an identification model (Schervish 2000a, 2008; Schervish and Havens 2001b, 2002;

Schervish and Herman 1988) and his concept of a moral biography (Schervish 2005b,

2006, 2008, 2009, 2014a, b; Schervish and Whitaker 2010) and assembled these as the theoretical framework for this research (see Section 5.1.5). For the purposes of the present research this will be referred to as the moral citizenship framework. 82

This framework is used as a basis for this research for three reasons by which it offers a better alternative to others. Firstly, it is empirically derived from data obtained from wealthy philanthropists themselves. Secondly, the model has been developed and refined over the span of four studies involving differing methods, samples and populations. Thirdly, the models and the framework derived from them satisfy the four essential elements of theory development proposed by Dubin (1978) as summarised by

Whetten (1989).

Alternative models

There are other models which offer insights drawn from interviews of philanthropists, though none are as well-developed as the two mentioned above, developed by Schervish. Those that have been developed in the form of typologies

(Odendahl 1990; Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Prince and File 1994; Schervish 1992,

2000a, 2003; Schervish and Herman 1988) have been discussed in Chapter Three. In addition to these, Lloyd (2004) and subsequently Breeze and Lloyd (2013) have explained what they identified as ten factors behind the philanthropic behaviour of wealthy givers in the UK. Scaife et al. (2011) and Scaife et al. (2012) conducted projects in which they interviewed elite Australian philanthropists to obtain valuable insights into their philanthropic behaviour and styles of giving, though stopped short of formalising these as a theoretical model.

A comprehensive literature review undertaken by Bekkers and Wiepking (2011) of charitable giving led to them identifying eight predictors of donations by individuals.

This review and its finding, however, had as its scope the giving patterns of a far wider range of actors than the elite philanthropists studied by those already mentioned. A

British study of wealthy entrepreneurs involved in philanthropy has been done, though 83

its results were not published until after the present research had been conducted

(Maclean et al. 2015). The authors of this propose a metaphor based model of a journey of personal transformation towards philanthropic action, and a typology of rewards gained. Other theoretical models and explanations of the patterns and behaviours of wealthy philanthropists have been published by scholars such as Acs (2013), Frumkin

(2006), Payton and Moody (2008), Reich (2018a), and Zunz (2012) but these do not draw on primary data drawn from philanthropists themselves.

Empirical basis of the theoretical framework

The identification model and the concept of moral biography which are both integral to the theoretical framework used in the present research were developed through the series of qualitative studies described below which drew their data from philanthropists themselves, either by interview or survey. Data for the Study on Wealth and Philanthropy was gathered from interviews with 130 millionaires from 1985 – 1987

(Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish 1990, 1992, 2000a; Schervish and Havens

1997; Schervish and Havens 2001b; Schervish and Herman 1988; Schervish et al. 1986).

The Wealth with Responsibility Study 2000 surveyed 112 wealth holders with assets at or above $5 million over two years from March 1998 to March 2000 on their attitudes, actions and intentions regarding heirs, taxes, and charity with Bankers Trust Private

Banking (Havens et al. 2006; Havens and Schervish 2001; Schervish 2000b; Schervish and Havens 2001a). The 2001 High-Tech Donors Study on the “new philanthropy” drew on interviews with 28 high-tech wealth holders involved in philanthropy (Schervish

2003, 2005b, 2014b; Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002). The Boston Area Diary Study was the exception to Schervish’s studies of only wealthy philanthropists in that it was a study of the prosocial behaviour of 44 randomly selected wealthy and non-wealthy

Boston residents over one calendar year (Schervish and Havens 2001b, 2002). Over the course of the 1995 calendar year, Schervish and Havens interviewed 44 respondents on a weekly basis resulting in approximately 1,800 interviews (Havens and Schervish

2001).

Essential elements of a theory

Dubin (1978) as summarised by Whetten (1989) proposed four essential elements of a theory or model. How the moral citizenship framework described and discussed in this chapter conforms to these is summarised in Table 5.1. The chapter will next draw on Schervish’s writings to explain this moral citizenship model.

Table 5.1: Four essential elements of a theory or model

Dubin’s essential Example in Schervish’s theorisation elements

What: Comprehensiveness and The moral citizenship model is composed parsimony of factors of two conceptual elements described as (variables, constructs, moral biography and the identification concepts). model. In turn moral biography is formed by two constructs described as personal capacity and moral compass. An identification model comprises five variables—communities of participation, frameworks of consciousness, invitations to participate, discretionary resources and models and experiences from one’s youth.

How: The way the factors related. A diagram explaining how these factors are related is provided in this chapter.

Why: The psychological, The psychological economic and social economic or social logic logics of these factors are developed from underlying these factors empirical data drawn from four separate and their relationships. studies and which are explained in a series of publications which are reviewed in this chapter. 85

When, The temporal and Schervish draws on Giddens (1979, 1984), where, contextual boundaries. Sewell (1992) and Emirbayer and Mische who: (1998) to emphasise that customs and traditions (past, present and future) provide the normative framework in which philanthropists act. Schervish has developed his theories through analysis of Western thought including Aristotle, Aquinas and other Christian thinkers. Payton and Moody (2008) suggest that factors similar to those enumerated by Schervish can be discovered in all cultures. The present research is exploring the validity of these factors in India.

The moral citizenship framework

From 1986 until 2014 Schervish expounded, in a series of research reports and academic articles, a number of interrelated concepts. Over these three decades,

Schervish (the single personal noun will be used to imply the collective including “and colleagues”) has developed and explained these concepts in various ways. This section will present them in a way that it is hoped maintains integrity with Schervish as well as provides the necessary theoretical framework that can be applied to the Indian context.

This framework will be presented under the overall heading of moral citizenship, a concept first introduced by Schervish and Havens (2002) and developed further in

Schervish (2006) then Schervish (2014a). It was not, however, until the latter that

Schervish brings both identification theory and moral biography together under the rubric of moral citizenship of care. Both are explained below. The identification model

(Section 5.3) comprises five units, to use Dubin’s (1989) terminology, which will be discussed in turn. A moral biography (Section 5.4) is constituted from two separate

units, which are described by the terms capacity (or, empowerment) and moral compass

(or, purpose).63

The discussion below will explain these units using an organisational structure which is visually represented by Figure 5.1. The concept of moral citizenship of care was first expounded in Schervish and Havens (2002). In earlier articles and reports,

Schervish had explained the significance of both care and moral biography but without linking these beneath an overarching rubric. Moral biography is discussed in detail below (Section 5.4). The next sections will first deal with the two elements of terminology, moral citizenship (Section 5.2.2) and then care (Section 5.2.3).

Figure 5.1 The moral citizenship framework

MORAL CITIZENSHIP FRAMEWORK Moral citizenship of care

IDENTIFICATION MORAL BIOGRAPHY MODEL

MORAL COMPASS PERSONAL CAPACITY Communities of participation (PURPOSE) Frameworks of consciousness Invitations to participate Discretionary resources spatial, temporal, psychological, and spiritual Models and experiences from empowerment one’s youth

63 In Schervish et al. (1994) an analogous term, normative bearing is used; and, in Schervisch (2014a) the term purpose is used in place of moral compass.

Moral citizenship of care

Introduction

It is in Schervish (2014a) that the clearest distinction is made between a moral biography of care and moral citizenship of care. The latter extends care (See Section

5.2.3) beyond familial and kinship structures to a collective or societal level. Actions by individuals extending their moral citizenship of care are the components of philanthropy or civil society (Schervish 2008, 2014a; Schervish and Havens 2002).

The meaning of moral is discussed in Section 5.4. Before Schervish (2014a), moral biography—defined as the product of two elements, personal capacity and moral compass—was seen as a constitutive element of the moral citizenship of care (Schervish

2006, 2008). The moral citizenship of care is explained by Schervish (2014a: 399) as

“moral biographies … congealed in regularized patterns of thinking, feeling, and acting extend over time and space.” He relates this to the duality of individual agency and social institutions (Giddens 1984).

Moral citizenship

Moral citizenship is explained in Schervish and Havens (2002) as distinct from either political or economic citizenship. To explain it more fully, they quote from Adam

Smith:

All the members of human society stand in need of each other’s assistance and are likewise exposed to mutual injuries. Where necessary assistance is reciprocally afforded from love, from gratitude, from friendship, and esteem, the society ﬂourishes and is happy. All the different members of it are bound together by the agreeable bands of love and affection, and are, as it were, drawn to one common centre of mutual good ofﬁces (Smith 1976 [1759]: 166) quoted by Schervish and Havens 2002: 66).

To this, Schervish and Havens add their own explanation:

As a practical ethic and as a way of life, the moral citizenship of care is that sphere of thinking, emotion, and behavior that begins in the tribulations and aspirations surrounding what is close at hand and extends to an ever-broadening horizon of others in need. Moral citizenship does not divide the private from the public, the local from the distant; instead it speaks of the levels and distribution of moral capital rather than of social capital and ﬁnancial capital. (Schervish and Havens 2002: 67).

There are two elements of this explanation which merit additional comment. The first, the emphasis on “what is close at hand …” relates to discussion of what Schervish categorises as consumption philanthropy (See Section 2.1.1) and, similarly, to what other research suggests is the self-serving nature of much US philanthropy (Clotfelter 1992;

Murphy and Nagel 2002; Odendahl 1990; Ostrower 1995; Reich 2013a; Wolpert 2006).

The second element is an important distinction to which Schervish and Havens (2002) return in the conclusion to this paper. It is to clarify that moral capital is not to be confused with social capital or financial capital. Schervish and Havens (2002) emphasise that, in their view, moral capital remains in rich supply and note that this is in contrast with the decline of social capital with which Putnam (2000) is concerned.

(This discussion is continued in Section 5.3.1.1).

Care

Care as a defining element of moral citizenship of care is something that

Schervish links to a broader concept of love or caritas. Care is the implemental or instrumental component of love (Schervish 2000b, 2007, 2008, 2014a). Attention has already been drawn to love as a component of moral citizenship of care by the extract

from Adam Smith above. The three authorities Schervish cites most in order to explain love or caritas are Aristotle, St Thomas Aquinas and the Jesuit philosopher, Jules Toner.

Schervish offers the concept of philia as explained by Aristotle in the

Nicomachean Ethics, first discussed in Chapter Three (Section 3.3.4), as an explanation of the concept of care that he uses in his theorisation. Schervish explains philia in terms drawn from translations of Aristotle, as friendship love (Schervish 2006, 2007, 2008,

2014a, b). Two editors of translations of the Nicomachean Ethics clarify this further.

Sachs (Aristotle 2002: 201) suggests, “The Greek word takes in all love felt and practiced toward family members, fellow countrymen, and generally those like oneself”.

While, Crisp (Aristotle 2014: 204) proposes, “A broader notion than friendship as we understand it, philia includes not only familial relations of non-humans as well as humans, but business partnerships and the natural kinship felt by one human being with another”.

In various works, Schervish elaborates a concept of love he attributes to St

Thomas Aquinas, described as the convergence of love of God, love of self, and love of neighbour (Schervish 2000a, 2005a, 2006, 2008, 2014a; Schervish and Whitaker 2010).

This convergence Schervish and Whitaker (2010) suggest describes an order of charity in which love of self precedes love of neighbour: “Self-love demands bettering ourselves

(and not just financially), for the sake of happiness, rather than merely satisfying ourselves at others’ expense”(Schervish and Whitaker 2010: 64 - 65). Following from this Schervish and Whittaker, quoting Aquinas, explain “fellowship in the full participation of happiness ... is the reason for loving one’s neighbour”.

More than either of these above two sources, Schervish draws on Toner (1968) for whom love is unconditional (Schervish 2007, 2014a), and care is the instrumental aspect of love (Schervish 2000b, 2007, 2008, 2014a). Schervish also explains the relationship of the notion of care within philanthropy:

Philanthropy is one of the primary ways that individuals pursue care. As such, philanthropy is also a central dimension of the moral compass by which wealthy individuals allocate their financial resources for the care of others. In carrying out philanthropy, wealth holders carry out their moral biography. (Schervish 2008: 167).

As first discussed in Chapter Three (Section 3.3.4), concepts of duty (dharma), rather than love are found in the dharmic and other religions outside Christianity and

Judaism. Within the Indian context, therefore, dharma rather than love may be a more appropriate concept still within the broad nature of moral citizenship of care. This view is to a degree supported by Bornstein (2012) who explains how dãn inspired by dharma, can be seen as an instrumental act in a similar way to how care is the instrumentalisation of love. Dharma is explained more fully in Chapter Four (Section

4.2)

Summary

To reduce this section to its essence then, the moral citizenship of care described by Schervish is the way in which individuals extend and instrumentalise a love of self, family and neighbour towards the society that is around them. The Judaeo-Christian concept of care or love may be understood as dharma in the application of this component of the model to the Indian context. The next sections explore how Schervish

describes two distinct aspects of the moral citizenship of care. He names one the identification model and the other as the moral biography of an individual.

The identification model

The identification model was developed by Schervish, as theorisation of the motivating factors leading to philanthropic action, specifically to be an alternative to altruism theory (Havens et al. 2006; Schervish 1992, 2000a, 2005a, b, 2014a, b;

Schervish and Havens 1997; Schervish and Havens 2002; Schervish and Herman 1988).

Chapter Three (Section 3.3) discusses altruism theories. Rather than altruism, identification is better conceived, Schervish says, as self-interest properly understood, the phrase borrowed from de Tocqueville (Schervish 2000a, 2005a; Schervish and Havens

1997; Schervish and Whitaker 2010).

De Tocqueville explains the principle of self-interest as “It gives them [the

American people] great pleasure to point out how an enlightened self-love continually leads them to help one another and disposes them freely to give part of their time and wealth for the good of the state” (De Tocqueville (2006 [1966]: 526) quoted by

Schervish and Havens 1997: 239).

The identification model has five variables which will be described in the next sections:

i. Communities of participation

ii. Frameworks of consciousness iii. Invitations to participate

iv. Discretionary resources

v. Models and experiences from one’s youth.

Communities of participation

Communities of participation are related to what Schervish explains as associational capital (See below 5.3.1.1) (Havens et al. 2006; Schervish 2000a, b, 2005a,

2014b; Schervish and Havens 1997). Communities, in this context, are the informal and formal networks within which people become aware of the needs of those around them.

Only in Schervish and Havens (1997) are any examples of what the authors consider to be communities of participation offered but these are sufficiently clear precedents for the concept to be understood. The examples given are formal such as schools, soup kitchens, political parties, volunteer fire departments, being a volunteer member of a co-operative nursery school or weekend soccer leagues; or informal, such as extended family.

5.3.1.1 Associational capital

Associational capital is explained as taking the form of social networks of invitation, and identification (Havens et al. 2006; Schervish 2000a, b, 2005a, 2014a;

Schervish and Havens 1997; Schervish and Havens 2002). It is more explicitly explained with a reference to Brown and Ferris (2002: ii) as “network-based social capital”

(quoted in Havens et al. 2006: 545). It is that element of social capital that

“encompasses the social networks among individuals and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them” (Brown and Ferris 2002: 2). Putnam (1995,

2000) explains that social capital refers to features of social organisation such as

networks, norms, and social trust that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit.64

Schervish refers to Putnam (2000) and his explanation of the decline of social capital to offer a counterpoint. Rather than supporting the theory that there has been a decline in America’s social capital, say Schervish and Havens (2002), analysis of their research data uncovers the existence of what they call moral capital. Moral capital is explained by them as the capital that is accumulated from relationships of care within networks of family, friends and neighbours. This idea is echoed by Lloyd when she notes of the wealthy UK donors that she interviewed:

General attitudes and motivations are strongly linked to upbringing and family, religious and community traditions and expectations... Criteria for selecting specific causes can be associated with these factors, but also with personal and business experience, social networks, and where people live and work (Lloyd 2004: 77).

Moral capital and associational capital are explained as closely intertwined by

Schervish (Schervish 2000a, 2005a; Schervish and Havens 1997). The element of moral capital that Schervish singles out for comment most is generosity (Schervish 2000a,

2005a; Schervish and Havens 1997).

Frameworks of consciousness

Schervish and Havens (1997: 241) say that “Frameworks of consciousness are the ways of thinking and feeling that are rooted deeply enough in one’s awareness to induce a commitment to a cause”. They link their conceptualisation with that of Snow et al. (1986) who in their study of recruitment to social movements illustrated how the

64 There is a rewarding discussion of the history and development of the concept social capital in Portes, A. 1998. Social Capital: Its Origins and Applications in Modern Sociology. Annual Review of Sociology, 24, 1-24.

alignment of frameworks is a necessary condition for participation. Snow et al. (1986) explain the meaning of framework with reference to Goffman (1974) as follows:

The term “frame” (and framework) is borrowed from Goffman (1974: 21) to denote “schemata of interpretation” that enable individuals “to locate, perceive, identify, and label” occurrences within their life space and the world at large. By rendering events or occurrences meaningful, frames function to organize experience and guide action, whether individual or collective. (Snow et al. 1986: 464)

Snow et al. (1986) elaborate how, within frameworks, values and beliefs can be mobilised and aligned to encourage participation in social movements.65 They define values as “goals or end-states” and beliefs as the “… ideational elements that cognitively support or impede action in pursuit of desired values” (Snow et al. 1986: 469-470).

Rohan (2000) offers an alternative conceptualisation of values as related to best possible living or the Aristotelian concept of eudaimonia (often translated as happiness) though

Rohan (2000: 263) explains it as “human flourishing”, or actualised potential.

Schervish and Havens (1997: 241) offer a more general description of beliefs as part of their explanation of the constituent role beliefs hold in frameworks of consciousness. They propose that “Some mobilizing beliefs are in fact better described as general values, other beliefs are really fundamental orientations, while still other beliefs concern causes to which one is dedicated”. The two concepts, values and beliefs (though not often clearly explicated) are sometimes expressed as being factors inducing

65 They provide examples of how this is done by US organisations such as the socially and politically conservative National Rifle Association (NRA), or the liberal Committee for a Sane Nuclear Policy (SANE).

philanthropy in academic literature (Bekkers and Wiepking 2007; Frumkin 2006;

Rudich 2009; Sargeant 1999).

In sum, frameworks of consciousness and values and beliefs are closely related.

Schervish and Havens (1997) add that frameworks of consciousness and communities of participation almost always work together. This contention has similarities with Snow et al. (1986) who conclude from their empirical research that recruitment to social movements is more successful when it draws on existing (or emerging) interpersonal ties such as with friends, acquaintances, and kin.

5.3.2.1 Religious participation within frameworks of consciousness

Religious participation or religious community may sometimes be a potent force within frameworks of consciousness (Schervish 2000a; Schervish and Havens 1997). It is something of a trope to propose that philanthropy exists as an injunction in all the world’s religions (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Gunderman 2009; Jackson et al. 1995;

Wuthnow and Hodgkinson 1990). Membership of a religious community or religious beliefs were considered as factors in the studies of elite philanthropists by Ostrower

(1995), Lloyd (2004) and Scaife et al. (2011). Interestingly, in the two later studies in the UK and Australia by Breeze and Lloyd (2013) and Scaife et al. (2012) respectively, religion was noticeably less salient. It is also worth noting that philanthropists can profess to be spiritually motivated, without their spirituality necessarily having a religious, “other worldly” (Lam et al. 2011: 4): 4) or “theistic” (Schervish 1990: 72) character.

5.3.2.2 Giving back within frameworks of consciousness

Mentioned, also, in the context of frameworks of consciousness, are notions such as “giving back”, also seen as a factor in philanthropy of the elite by Odendahl (1990) 96

and by Prince and File (1994) (who identify such people as repayers); or, giving with gratitude for good fortune (Scaife et al. 2011; Schervish 2000b, 2003; Schervish and

Havens 2011). Schervish says of wealthy philanthropists that:

I have found that taking their fortune with gratitude is the single most decisive aspect that forms their philanthropic conscience and consciousness ... This realization in turn induces the obverse insight that those who are less fortunate are not solely responsible for their plight and are deserving of a leg up (Schervish 2000b: 22 - 23).

Models and experiences from youth

Models and experiences from youth animate adult philanthropy say Schervish and

Havens (1997). They explain models and experiences from youth as, “… those activities and lives that we are more or less drawn into in the course of growing up” (Schervish and Havens 1997: 241). A further definition of this is given in two later papers in which this concept is stated as meaning “the people or experiences from one’s youth which serve as positive exemplars for one’s adult engagements” (Schervish 2000a: 9; 2005a:

72).

There are strong similarities between this construct and the confluence, described above, of communities of participation and frameworks of consciousness and how they draw on ties with friends, acquaintances, and kin. The difference in the case of models and experiences from youth, Schervish and Havens (1997) suggest, is that, for children, participation in networks and the values and beliefs they reflect is generally directed by adults—parents, grandparents, teachers or youth leaders. The example set by parents on their children’s subsequent philanthropy is reported by those interviewed by Lloyd (2004) and by Scaife et al. (2011).

Invitations to participate

Invitation(s) to participate is a fourth factor (Schervish 2000a, 2005a; Schervish and Havens 1997). Schervish and Havens (1997) say that being asked directly by someone within the individual’s community of participation is a major mobiliser. This, is the case, notwithstanding “… wealth holders initiate a great proportion of their gifts … the associational linkage represented by being asked [this writer’s emphasis] remains important” (Schervish and Havens 2001b: 93). Breeze and Lloyd (2013) and Scaife et al.

(2011) both report that the requests respondents most heed come from someone within—though without using Schervish’s exact language—the giver’s community of participation. Scaife et al. stated this as their strongest finding:

The strongest finding, in fact, about what triggers initial giving comes from the many participants who spoke of responding to appeals from friends or acquaintances, particularly when they coincided with established interests (Scaife et al. 2011: 29).

This description by Scaife et al. (2011) nicely encapsulates and supports an overarching finding of Schervish, which is that these factors generally work in combination, not in isolation. In the statement by Scaife et al. above the three components are “appeals” (invitations to participate), “friends or acquaintances”

(communities of association) and “established interests” (frameworks of consciousness).

This is exactly as described by Schervish and Havens, who noted:

Once again, we can see the linkages among the mobilising factors. Being asked to contribute [invitations to participate] largely occurs from within existing communities of participation and appeals to existing frameworks of consciousness (Schervish and Havens 1997: 241) (Researcher’s italics).

Discretionary resources

The fifth factor, discretionary resources means time and money (Schervish and

Havens 1997). Surplus money is a variable commented on by Breeze and Lloyd (2013),

Lloyd (2004) and Scaife et al. (2011). Lloyd (2004: 75), like Schervish, comments on both time and money noting, “[Philanthropists] embark on a significant philanthropic commitment when they are moved by a cause, realise that they have more [wealth] than they need, or when they have sold a business and want to use their time effectively.”

The level of one’s discretionary resources of time and money according to Schervish is, of course, a mixture of objective and subjective considerations (Schervish and Havens

1997). The quantitative and psychological perception of sufficient time and money

(Schervish 2005a) will vary among individuals. Scaife et al. (2011: 26) capture something of this idea by saying how for the philanthropists in their study “financial security is not so much about a dollar amount but rather a state of mind”.

Summary of identification model

To summarise this section, the identification model proposes that there are five factors which are often present in philanthropists’ narratives. Using vocabulary used by other writers than Schervish, these could be described as:

i) familial, personal and professional networks;

ii) values and beliefs;

iii) their childhood experience and upbringing;

iv) appeals for help (usually from within these networks); and,

v) time and/or money to spend.

Moral biography

The second concept considered in this moral citizenship framework is described as a moral biography (Schervish 2005b, 2006, 2008, 2009, 2014a, b; Schervish and

Whitaker 2010): “The term moral biography refers to the way that individuals conscientiously combine in daily life two elements—personal capacity and moral compass” (Schervish 2008: 174).66 Schervish and Whitaker (2010: 5) say, “A moral biography bridges where we are and where we want to go” adding, “... and that bridge is composed of a series of acts of agency”. Both the metaphor of direction and a bridge are comparable with the journey metaphor used by Maclean et al. (2015). Agency—in the sense of actors consciously acting, doing (e.g. journeying)—is a vital concept in

Schervish’s theorisation (See Section 5.5).

Equally important to understanding this theory is an understanding of

Schervish’s use of the concept moral. It is derived from the Latin mores, used says

Schervish (Schervish 2003, 2006, 2014a; Schervish and Havens 2002), in Durkheim’s sense of a moral behaviour directed by choices related to beliefs, values, norms and customs, and enforced by positive and negative social sanction.67 It does not necessarily have a religious or spiritual sanction, which is consistent with a point made above

(Section 5.3.2.1)—that philanthropists can profess to be spiritually motivated without their spirituality necessarily having a religious character (Lam et al. 2011; Schervish

1990). In discussion of moral compass, Schervish (2006) explains there are those whose

66 Or moral bearing or purpose (See Section 1.2).

67 Durkheim, E. (1992). The Rules of Sociological Method and Selected Texts on Sociology and Its Method (S. Lukes, Ed., W. D. Halls, Trans.) New York: Free Press (cited by Schervish 2006: 480).

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moral compass has a religious orientation, for example, directed by love of neighbour and love of self to seek the love of God. However, he also suggests that others are more likely to define their moral compass in terms drawn from Maslow’s notion of self- actualisation68 or Heidegger’s participation in being69 and be more comfortable with the descriptor spiritual.

Capacity (empowerment)

The first of the two elements which influence a person’s moral biography, according to Schervish, is personal capacity. Personal capacity connotes the assets available to accomplish goals, and includes financial assets, intellectual and psychological capacity and physical talents (Schervish 2006, 2008). These capacities enable what Schervish describes as spatial, temporal, psychological, and spiritual empowerment (Schervish 1990, 2000a, 2003, 2005a; Schervish and Havens 2002;

Schervish and Herman 1988). The two terms, empowerment and capacity will be treated as analogous for the present discussion.

The capacity most central to this thesis, concerned as it is with a wealthy elite, relates to financial assets. Schervish (2000a) reminds us of the distinction, originally made by Carnegie (2009 [1920]), between the wealthy and those who are merely economically competent. The wealthy, Schervish (2000a, 2008) says are those whose financial security can withstand personal financial or general economic crises. The truly wealthy “are those who are financially secure, having settled the economic problem of

68 Maslow, A. H. 1943. A Theory of Human Motivation. Psychological Review, 50, 370; cited by Schervish (2006: 484).

69 Heidegger, M. (1996). Being and Time: A Translation of Sein Und Zeit, SUNY Press; cited by Schervish (2006: 484).

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achieving indefinitely a desired standard of living for themselves and their heirs, and are now looking for an additional outlet for the productive use of their money”

(Schervish 2008: 165).

Spatial and temporal empowerment relate to the fact that with wealth it is possible to rise above the mundane. Time and space are conquerable with sufficient money for the extremely wealthy using private jets and privileged access to accommodation (often their own) around the globe; and at the day-to-day level, such advantages as chauffeurs and maids. Psychological empowerment allows, the attainment of what Schervish describes as the spiritual secret of money (Schervish 1990; Schervish and Herman 1988; Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002). In doing so he draws attention to a fundamental fact about money in sociology—money is power (Baker and Jimerson

1992); or, to paraphrase Baker and Jimerson (1992) and Weber (1978)—money is a weapon in the struggle of man against man.

Schervish and Herman (1988: 31) characterise psychological empowerment as, “a set of orientations related to what psychologists call self-actualisation and what spiritual traditions refer to as holiness or wisdom”. Schervish further explains wisdom using a term borrowed from Aristotle—phronesis, often translated as practical wisdom

(Schervish 2007, 2009; Schervish and Whitaker 2010). The spiritual secret of money is at a level above the realisation of temporal, spatial and psychological empowerment that money brings. Having realised that wealth provides the release from everyday cares, including the necessity of day-to-day work to earn a living, a wealthy person can turn to less self-centred concerns, including self-development and philanthropy. To explain the spiritual secret, Schervish borrows as a metaphor the dharmic story of the wish-

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fulfilling, Kalpataru tree as restated by Huston Smith: “a single, central affirmation ... saying to man ‘you can have what you want’” (Smith 1958: 17; quoted by Schervish

1990; Schervish and Herman 1988; Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002).

Moral compass

The second element of a moral biography is what Schervish calls moral compass or purpose—“the dimension of moral biography that charts, mobilises, motivates, and provides direction to how individuals activate their capacities to achieve a goal”

(Schervish 2006: n.1, 491; Schervish and Whitaker 2010: n.1, 1). Moral compass provides direction to solving the challenge posed mankind by Keynes, “How to use his freedom from pressing economic cares, how to occupy the leisure, which science and compound interest will have won for him, to live wisely and agreeably and well?”

(Keynes, 1963 [1930]: 198, quoted by Schervish 2000b, 2006, 2008; Schervish and

O’Herlihy 2002). Schervish (2006, 2014b; Schervish and Whitaker 2010) provides examples of individuals following their moral compass that range from fictional Luke

Skywalker from Star Wars to the biblical Moses and the real Mother Teresa:

When Vader’s agents murder Skywalker’s guardians, the boy’s capacity and moral bearing are thrown into disarray. He embarks on Jedi training to assist the Old Republic. The more entwined Skywalker becomes in the interstellar struggle, the more he searches for a deeper capacity and wiser purpose with the help of his Jedi mentors. At times, his budding powers exceed his strength of character, imperilling him and others. Other times, Skywalker’s moral purpose outstrips is still-growing capacity, and he enters a fray unprepared. Eventually, Skywalker fully acquires a Jedi moral biography, and in the struggle to the death with Vader, ends up helping his foe regain his nobler side. (Schervish and Whitaker 2010: 2 - 3)

Take Moses for example. Here we find that the ethics of leading a moral biography are rooted in a way of life revolving around how he improperly and then, with learning, properly ties together capacity and purpose as he moves from heir-apparent to the Pharaoh to settled sheep herder to champion of his people’s emancipation (Schervish 2014a: 392).

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Mother Teresa’s moral compass led her to muster the resources of companions and donors to care for those she called “the poorest of the poor” (Schervish 2006: 480).

The best empirical examples of Schervish’s understanding of moral compass are provided by Schervish et al. (1994) through a compilation of twelve illustrative stories drawn from the respondents to the Study on Wealth and Philanthropy (Schervish and

Herman 1988). Schervish had not yet adopted the term moral compass for use in either of these works; in Schervish et al. (1994) he uses an analogous term, normative bearing.

Both Schervish and Herman (1988) and Schervish et al. (1994) describe a model for analysing the biographies of respondents as, what they term, a dialectic of fortune and virtue. Schervish and Herman (1988: 25) describe this “It is through this dynamic interplay of fortune and virtue that the wealthy engage in a process of identity formation, or liminality, whereby they learn to move from being disposed over by their wealth to disposing over it”. 70

It is not until Schervish et al. (1994), however, that the concept of a moral biography is first introduced. A moral biography is described as “an account of both power and normative bearings” (Schervish et al. 1994: 10). Power, in this context, is explained using the same elements of personal empowerment—that is, spatial, temporal, psychological, and spiritual empowerment—as used in subsequent works (Schervish

2000a, 2003, 2005a, 2009; Schervish and Havens 2002). It is clear from this that normative bearings and moral compass (also purpose) are analogous.

70 Liminality is explained by Schervish and Herman (1988) as derived from a Latin word meaning threshold; and, more specifically, one that occurs at a point of transformation (such as becoming an entrepreneur or receiving the first instalment of inheritance).

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That philanthropy is a direction in which the moral compass of the wealthy may take them is a central premise of Schervish’s conceptualisation. It is, clearly, not the only direction, “starting a business enterprise, investing, and caring for family and friends”

(Schervish 2005b: 15) are myriad destinations to which a moral compass might point someone, and there are alternative directions, positive or negative, in which a person might go. In the case of many, however, the direction, and resolution of the question posed by Keynes is, “to be economically purposive for others” (Keynes, 1963 [1930]:

201; quoted by Schervish 2000b, 2006, 2008, 2014b; Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002).

Being economically purposive for others is, of course, precisely what Gandhi, in his doctrine of trusteeship (See Section 4.8) and Carnegie in his Essay on Wealth (Carnegie

2009 [1920]) both espouse. Furthermore, “for others” is congruent with meanings of altruism discussed in Chapter Three (Section 3.3).

Agency

A moral biography is described above (Section 5.4) as a bridge and “a series of acts of agency” (Schervish and Whitaker 2010: 5). Schervish (2003, 2006; Schervish and

Whitaker 2010) explains that he uses agency as used by Emirbayer and Mische (1998),

Giddens (1979, 1984) and Sewell (1992). He suggests that for Giddens, agency is practised by actors “in the context of acknowledged and unacknowledged conditions and produces intended and unintended consequences” (Schervish 2003: 4). Emirbayer and Mische (1998) define agency in temporal terms—past, present, and future. Their explication of agency suggests that past patterns of thought and action, imaginative generation of future action and normative responses to the present are incorporated in

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individual actions.71 The concept of agency is discussed further in Chapter Six (Section

6.2.5).

Hyperagency

Using the moral citizenship of care as a theoretical model has enabled Schervish to identify further important features of the philanthropy of the wealthy elite. These are hyperagency, principality and the nature of the elite as suppliers or producers of philanthropy.

A specific model of agency has been described by Schervish (Schervish 1990,

1992, 2000a, b, 2003, 2006, 2008, 2009, 2014b; Schervish and Havens 2001c; Schervish and Herman 1988) as hyperagency and this has become prominent in subsequent wider discourse around philanthropy (for example, in Bishop and Green 2010; Jansons 2015;

Jenkins 2011; John et al. 2007; Nickel and Eikenberry 2009; Scaife et al. 2011). Within a definitional framework of agency, where agents interact with past, present and future, hyperagency is most concerned with the future. Hyperagents are most distinguished by their ability to have had an impact on the future: “[they] are clearly able to shape alternative futures not just for themselves but for others as well” (Schervish 2003: 9)

The following explanations from different articles by Schervish are offered as alternative explanations of the concept:

Hyperagency refers to the enhanced capacity of wealthy individuals to establish or control substantially the conditions under which they and others will live. For most individuals, agency is limited to choosing among and acting within the constraints of those situations in which they find themselves. As monarchs of agency, the wealthy can circumscribe such

71 The following definition of agency is quoted by Schervish (2003: 5) and Schervish and Whitaker (2010: 171): “We define it as the temporally constructed engagement by actors of different structural environments—the temporal-relational contexts of action—which, through the interplay of habit, imagination, and judgment, both reproduces and transforms those structures in interactive response to the problems posed by changing historical situations”, (Emirbayer and Mische 1998: 970).

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constraints and, for good or for ill, create for themselves a world of their own design. (Schervish 2000b: 20).

Hyperagency is the combination of psychological and material capacity to not just contribute to or support causes, but to relatively single-handedly produce new philanthropic organisations or new directions in existing ones. (Schervish 2008: 165).

Or more simply, hyperagency is “the power to make a difference” (Schervish and

Havens 2001c: 13) and hyperagents are “world builders” (Schervish 2006: 488).

It should be noted that hyperagency is not confined to the wealthy; there are individuals who have been without wealth—in the Indian context, Vivekananda, Gandhi; or, in the West, Marx or Freud and others spring to mind—are still able to create profound change to society. In such cases, their temporal, spatial and psychological empowerment is by personal rather than material capacity

Principality

Concomitant with the temporal and spatial empowerment of wealth, the awareness and realisation derived from psychological empowerment and the behavioural traits described as hyperagency, is the ability of the very wealthy to create what Schervish (2000a, 2003, 2005a; Schervish and Herman 1988) describes as their own principalities. Principality, says Schervish is the “embodiment of hyperagency in the sphere of the world” (Schervish and Herman 1988: 32).

If individuality revolves around psychological empowerment, principality revolves around temporal and spatial empowerment. If individuality is self- construction, principality is world-building (Schervish 2000a).

The principalities of the very wealthy may include lavish homes or estates, yachts and private jets—but they may also include setting up foundations and NGOs (Schervish and Herman 1988). As Ostrower (1995: Conclusion) remarks, even if such people do not 107

create their own NGOs “...their participation in nonprofit organizations parallels their participation in the business world—they are at the top”. Principality, combined with spatial and temporal empowerment may also equip the wealthy with the means to leave a permanent legacy, or what Ostrower (1995: Ch. 5) describes as “footprints in the sands of time.”

Producers of philanthropy

As the result of their hyperagency and principality comes, arguably, the most significant aspect of the philanthropy of the very wealthy. Schervish describes their philanthropy as a social relation of production (Schervish and Herman 1988) and wealthy philanthropists as producers of philanthropy (Ostrander and Schervish 1990;

Schervish 1992, 1997, 2000a, 2003, 2005a, 2006, 2008, 2014b; Schervish and Herman

1988; Schervish et al. 1986). Philanthropists as producers or suppliers do not operate in a classic economic market. In a classic market, transactions occur when demand, signalled in monetary terms, coincides with the economic interest and capacity of suppliers to meet it. However, according to Schervish, in philanthropy, the demand, or the need, is not persuasive when expressed in monetary terms. The producers or suppliers—that is philanthropists—are not driven by economic interests. Schervish

(1992) calls on Ludwig Feuerbach72 to explain that the needs of recipients are expressed in the language of emotions rather than the mechanical language of dollars and cents. Philanthropy, he states, recognises and responds to affective rather than effective demand (Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish 1992, 2000a, 2007, 2014a;

Schervish and Havens 2002; Schervish and Herman 1988). Affective demand is usually

72 Feuerbach, Ludwig & Eliot, George, 1819-1880 1857, The Essence of Christianity, 2nd ed, C. Blanchard, New York.

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expressed in words and images, which engage the philanthropist more powerfully by making a moral appeal for their support

Another factor which Schervish (Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish 2007;

Schervish and Herman 1988) points out is that philanthropists as producers or suppliers of philanthropy are not constrained by economic capacity of the market, as would be the case were demand expressed commercially; nor the demographics of the electorate, as when political demand—another example of a market economy offered by

Schervish—is expressed by votes (Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish 1992,

2003, 2006, 2014a; Schervish and Havens 2002; Schervish and Herman 1988). The beneficiary of philanthropy is not usually concerned or able to exercise a choice between suppliers of philanthropy. Indeed, often beneficiaries will be hoping to have more than one supplier. Conversely, philanthropists as the producers and suppliers are unconstrained as to whom, or whether, they supply their philanthropy. This factor combined with their world building tendency provides another explanation for how some hyperagents are likely to create their own NGOs in place of contributing to those already existing to meet any particular challenge.

Summary and conclusion

This chapter established a theoretical framework called moral citizenship for this research, which provides its ontological and epistemological basis and methodology. The framework is derived from what Schervish explains as moral citizenship of care. Moral citizenship of care can be summarised as the way in which individuals extend and instrumentalise care beyond familial and kinship structures to the collective or societal level. The theoretical framework drawn from this contains two distinct theoretical 109

models which Schervish has developed. They are explained in this chapter as the identification model and the concept described as moral biography.

The identification model comprises five factors which were uncovered and tested through empirical studies of US philanthropists. Described by Schervish as communities of participation, frameworks of consciousness, models and experiences from one’s youth, invitations to participate, and discretionary resources, these can alternatively be summarised as:

• familial, personal and professional networks

• values and beliefs

• childhood experience and upbringing

• appeals for help (usually from within networks)

• time and/or money to spend.

A moral biography is described as a bridge or a journey and comprising of acts of agency. It comprises two separate elements, which are described by the terms capacity

(or, empowerment) and moral compass. Capacity includes the financial assets, intellectual and psychological capacity and physical talents which, in turn, provide spatial, temporal, psychological, and spiritual empowerment. A moral compass refers to the direction in which a person’s life, or a part of their life, took. Philanthropy is a direction in which their moral compass took the participants in this research.

Using this understanding of empowerment and agency, Schervish identifies hyperagency as a characteristic of many wealthy philanthropists. Hyperagents have enhanced capacities to make a difference to the world around them which grant them principality. The result of their hyperagency and principality becomes a significant

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aspect of the philanthropy of the very wealthy. That is, wealthy philanthropists are suppliers or producers of philanthropy.

The next chapter outlines the methodology of this research, which is based on not only the work of Schervish but also that used in the empirical studies of elite philanthropy undertaken by Breeze and Lloyd (2013), Lloyd (2004), Odendahl (1990),

Ostrower (1995), Panas (1984) and others. Then it details the methods by which this was applied in the Indian context. Thereafter, the thesis moves to its findings. The first two chapters of findings report specifically on those related to moral citizenship as a theoretical framework.

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METHODOLOGY AND METHODS

Introduction

This chapter outlines and explains the methodology and methods of this research.

Saunders et al. (2009: 674) define methodology as “... the theoretical and philosophical assumptions upon which research is based and the implications of these for the method or methods adopted”. Method is defined by them as “the techniques and procedures used to obtain and analyse research data, including for example questionnaires, observation, interviews, and statistical and non-statistical techniques” (ibid). This chapter adopts this division between methodology and methods and describes them separately.

Research questions

The research gap on which this investigation focuses is the absence (as discussed in Chapter Three) of any examination of the patterns of philanthropic behaviour of the

Indian elite. An explanation of the meaning of elite in the context of this thesis is given in

Chapter Six (Section 6.1.2). The major themes of this research are driven by the problem of identifying a distinct practice of philanthropy by the Indian elite. This, of course, assumes a hypothesis that there a distinct practice of philanthropy by the Indian elite that is shaped by India’s own history and traditions.

The research is formulated around the following questions:

• What is philanthropy in the Indian context?

• How is philanthropy understood by the Indian elite?

• In particular, how does this elite describe their own philanthropy?

• What do they do?

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• What do they do it for?

• What has influenced them?

The methodology and methods of this research follow in the steps of others such as Breeze and Lloyd (2013), Lloyd (2004), Odendahl (1990), Ostrower (1995), Panas

(1984, 2019 [1984]), Scaife et al. (2011) Scaife et al. (2012), Schervish and Herman

(1988), and Schervish and Havens (2001b), who have interviewed wealthy philanthropists in order to obtain insight into the key characteristics of their philanthropy. These studies have been reviewed in Chapter Two.

Definition of elite

It is clearly important to consider what the term elite means in the context of the current research. Harvey (2011) has noted that there is no clear cut understanding of a definition of elites. The study of elites can be traced back to the work of Pareto (1963),

Mosca (1965), with some reference to Marx and Weber (Bottomore 1993; Stanworth and Giddens 1974). A distinction in the literature emerges between governing or political elites and other social elites (Bottomore 1993; Gilding 2004; Harvey 2011).

Bottomore in particular, explains this distinction by noting that the study of elites, nowadays, rather than considering political elites, focuses on “functional, mainly occupational groups which have high status” (Bottomore 1993: 7). He refers to India specifically in his own categorisation of elites, explaining how an elite was created by the educational and administrative systems of the colonial British. He cites Misra (1961) who provides an account of the emergence of the Indian educated middle classes that form a distinct part of the Indian elite today. Other studies of India’s elite describe an urban elite defined by mercantilism and education (Mitra 1992) and a political elite, defined by recruitment to the highest levels of government service, via education at

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India’s top institutions (Dash 1994; Kumar 1985). Bottomore (1993: 75), consistent with these others, suggests there are three elites which play a significant role in developing countries such as India. The three elites he refers to are the educated middle class, a dynastic elite (which in India is defined by mercantilism) and a political elite—in the different sense, suggested by above by Dash (1994) and Kumar (1985). This political elite, in the context of developing countries, is often a product of the former two elites who have benefited from a Western education system, often abroad. Bottomore notes the composition of the political elite in India as comprising leaders “from business communities or the professions, and even more by the moral and social doctrines of

Gandhi, which were derived from traditional religious thought” (Bottomore 1993: 78).

The literature reviewed in Chapter Four (Section 4.7) indicates the influence of Gandhi in the practice of philanthropy in India, and this influence is confirmed in findings reported in Chapter Thirteen (Section 13.2.4).

Methodology

The methodology followed eschews questionnaires and statistical analysis, in part, for pragmatic reasons related to identification and access to participants and the scale and funding of this doctoral candidature research. Like the studies cited above

(Section 6.1.1) it is qualitative and interpretivist (Saunders et al. 2009; Schwandt 2000;

Walliman 2005). All of the researchers named above (Section 6.1.1) used some form of qualitative interview as their primary data collection method. Much of their primary data was obtained by interviewing wealthy or elite individuals.

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Resource limitations leading to the choice of methodology

There were two significant interrelated restrictions on the present research which did not apply to those authors named above. The first of these relates to resourcing and the second to identification and access to participants. This project is a self-funded research project undertaken in preparation for PhD candidature. The location of the field of research and the participants were not in the country where the researcher lived. The budget for the research, therefore, was not only limited by personal funds but also stretched by the need to travel a long distance to interview participants. Sample recruitment, as will be explained below (Section 6.3.6) used a snowball method (Wright and Stein 2005), resulting in several visits to India being required to gather data. The number of people interviewed was therefore limited as much by their available time as mine and by my money.

Quantitative methodology is an alternative that has been used in studies of elite philanthropy in the US and UK (See Chapter Two, Section 2.1). As a methodology, it lends itself to specific and objective questions which can be answered in a structured manner (Babbie 2005; Creswell 2009). Of the current research questions, arguably, the last three could be answered by this methodology. The data for a quantitative study, however, to have any real significance would require a large sample of participants, and to be tested longitudinally (over a number of years). The possibility of sourcing a sufficient number of participants in India would be challenging as there are no comparable public sources providing indications of wealth or philanthropy (Centre for

Social Impact and Philanthropy 2019; Srinath 2018). For reasons of economy of time and money, I determined that long interviews would be the primary research tool.

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Interviewing elites

The particular type of qualitative interviewing used in the context of this research is distinctive in a way usually described as studying up, interviewing up, or studying/interviewing elites (Cochrane 1998; Conti and O’Neil 2007; Gilding 2010;

Harrington 2003; Hay and Muller 2013; Hertz and Imber 1995b; McDowell 1998;

Mikecz 2012; Ostrander 1995; Parry 1998; Shurmer-Smith 1998; Smith 2006).

Ostrander (1995: 133) suggests, “social scientists too rarely ‘study up’”. Hertz and

Imber (1995a: 4) agree, proposing that “social scientists have traditionally identified with the disenfranchised … After all, whose purpose does it serve to ‘empower’ the rich and powerful?” Because of their traditional identification of being on the side of the powerless, researchers who study up potentially face a dilemma with respect to their political stance. As Cochrane (1998) and Parry (1998) suggest challenges arise to the stance of such researchers needing to appear sympathetic and not challenge powerful people.

Positionality and reflexivity

A solution to the interviewer’s dilemma is to be “a transparently knowable agent whose motivations can be fully known” (Rose 1997: 309; quoted by Smith 2007: 647).

As England (1994: 85) says, “The researcher cannot conveniently tuck away the personal behind the professional, because fieldwork is personal” [italics in original].

These two quotations are drawn from feminist scholarship which explores the concepts of positionality and reflexivity in research (England 1994; Haraway 1988; Rose 1997;

Sultana 2007). Positionality requires the interviewer to be transparent regarding their identity and biography; and, reflexivity, requires them always to be aware of their political stance and make this explicit in their analyses and findings. The methodologies

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developed by feminist social scientists lend themselves particularly well to studying powerful elites, honed as they had been by scholars determined to assert their right to be recognised as objective and scientific in a field then dominated by men inclined to be dismissive of women social scientists (Conti and O’Neil 2007; England 1994; Haraway

1988, 1991; Jones 2006; Katz 1994; Mattingly and Falconer-Al-Hindi 1995; McDowell

1992; Rose 1997; Staeheli and Lawson 1995; Sultana 2007).

Feminist researchers argue that the identity and biography of the researcher are components in positioning the research (England 1994; Hastrup 1987; Jones 2006; Katz

1994; McDowell 1992). Haraway (1988) in particular, has explored the paradox between subjectivity and the positivist quest for objectivity in science. Baxter and Eyles

(1997: 521) point out that reflecting, questioning the context and positioning of the

“researcher-as-instrument” should be made explicit in order to counter the accusation of “‘anything goes’ science”. As stated by Moss (1995: 445), “Engaging in reflexivity permits us to position our own involvement in the production of knowledge, in the practice of science, in the politics of knowing and doing”. Haraway (1988) extends this point by insisting that all rational knowledge is grounded in politics and ethics.

England (1994: 85) says the biography of the researcher directly affects fieldwork because the personal experience and characteristics of the researcher may enable them to “grasp some phenomena more easily and better than others”. And, says

Hondagneu-Sotelo (1988: 612), “the researcher’s own biography and reflexivity act as a secondary screen on the available data”. As Geertz (1973a: 15) says, “We begin with our own interpretations of what our informants are up to.” Others also have pointed out that reflexivity continues past the interview or the fieldwork itself. Mikecz (2012: 491) refers to “lengthy self-critical reflection to improve trustworthiness and to ascertain a

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critical evaluation of the findings”. Moss (1995: 445, quoted by Rose 1997: 309) said that the researcher must also reflect on “how her research is accepted into the scientific community and then becomes part of the known”. Katz (1994: 72) broadens the notion of reflexivity to “always, everywhere in the field”. For Katz “always, everywhere” demands “conscious awareness”.

In particular, among feminist scholars, reflexivity means that the political stance of the researcher controls their research (Conti and O’Neil 2007; Haraway 1988; Jones

2006; Kobayashi 1994; Mattingly & Falconer-Al-Hindi 1995; McDowell 1994; Parry

1998). Marcus (See, for example, Marcus 1983: 23-24) felt this to be most likely in elite studies. Marcus emphasised that the political stance of the researcher must be explicit.

A relevant example is provided by Odendahl (1990), who in her study of the philanthropy of the New York elite makes her stance explicit.

I have used anthropological methods in analysing the interview data, but in this book, I do not take the status of the disinterested social scientist … On the whole, given the objectives of my study, it is not the activities of specific individuals that are important, but rather the social structure in which they live —an economic and social system that often promotes inequality. In my view, if this inequality is a fact of life, basic human services must then be provided either by the State or by charity. In the 1980s, by default, and in the name of “less government,” a disproportionate amount of charitable power has been conferred upon the wealthy. (Odendahl 1990: xii)

A statement of my own stance can be found below (Section 6.3.15).

Value-ladenness

Positionality and reflexivity are closely related to the question of value-ladeness.

The researcher is a professional working in the field of philanthropy. This also was also the case (or at some time had been) for lead researchers in precedent studies—Lloyd

(2004), Odendahl (1990), Panas (2019 [1984]) and Scaife (Scaife et al. 2011; Scaife et al.

2012). Therefore, our research inevitably contains a particular bias (Walliman 2005). It 118

is value laden because, as England (1994), Geertz (1973a) and Hondagneu-Sotelo

(1988) suggest, the researcher brings some of his own knowledge into the process of induction—drawing conclusions from the particular to the general (Lewins 1987).

In other words, the interviews are a joint production by virtue of the informed interaction between interviewer and participant (Aldred and Gillies 2002; Marcus

2001). As a joint account, it is inevitably interpretivist as because Weber suggests, “there is no absolutely ‘objective’ analysis of culture … or of ‘social phenomena’ independent of special and ‘one-sided’ viewpoints … all knowledge of cultural reality, as may be seen, is always knowledge from particular points of view” (Weber 1949 72 - 81; quoted by

Walliman 2005: 207).

Ontology and epistemology

Saunders et al. (2009: 119) explain ontology as the researcher’s view of “the nature of reality” and epistemology as their view of “what constitutes acceptable knowledge”. The data for this research, obtained through long interviews comprises memories—narratives and autobiography—drawn from participants. How epistemologically and ontologically sound are these participants’ memories for discovering answers to the questions that this researcher asks?

Giddens (1979: 5) provides a partial answer by saying, “Every social actor knows a great deal about the conditions of reproduction [the social systems and practices] of the society of which he or she is a member.” My reading of Giddens (1979) suggests, therefore, that asking philanthropists (actors) about the social systems and practices of philanthropy (the conditions) they as actors reproduce, will provide valid data.

Additionally, as proposed by Ostrower (1995) participants are likely to be not only knowledgeable but serious about their practice of philanthropy. Odendahl (1990: 248)

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assumed that her participants, “On the whole...believe what they said and that their actions are based on their beliefs.”

The research derives its epistemology from Schervish. It is explained by

Schervish (2003, 2006) as having its basis in the concept of agency as it is used by

Emirbayer and Mische (1998), Giddens (1979, 1984) and Sewell (1992). One effect of the long interview approach is that it gives participants the opportunity to describe “the array of emotion, sentiment, belief, and duty” (Schervish 1992: 331) they have experienced; and, to situate themselves as actors “who engage agentically within their structured environments” (Emirbayer and Mische 1998: 1004) (italics by researcher).

The intention of the interview process is to discover from the participants—in agentic terms (Emirbayer and Mische 1998) using their own words—“the testimony of a man about himself” (Mandel 1980: 48), the etiology and teleology applied to their practice of philanthropy (Schervish 1992, 2000a). In other words, to discover the cause or motivating factors, and the goals of their philanthropy. The interviews intend to probe what Schervish (1992: 332) describes as “the background forces, goals, and purposes that mobilize behaviour in a certain direction”. Odendahl (1990: 250), is congruent with Schervish, describing her own task as a “... search for generalities and patterns, to make a coherent range of attitudes and expressed behaviour”.

The common thread that runs through all these three authorities relates to how the actions of any agent is influenced by the past, present and future. Giddens refers to

“the mutual dependence of structure and agency” (Giddens 1979: 69), where structure relates to the time-space constitution of social systems (Giddens 1979: 103-4).

Emirbayer and Mische describe their own conceptualisation of past, present and future as it relates to agency as a “chordal triad of agency” (Emirbayer and Mische 1998: 972).

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Sewell (1992) explains agency in terms of schema and resources, where schema include customs and traditions, and human resources include novels and folktales, as well as statute books or contracts. Agency to Sewell (1992: 18) denotes the capacity to

“transpose and extend schema to new contexts.”

Autobiographical narratives such as those that are obtained from this proposed methodology are reliant on the memories of the participants. In keeping with the emphasis this epistemology places on memory, Olney (1980: 238) provides an alternative description of ontology to the one offered above. It is, he says, the theory concerned with “the process of being, the process of existing” and compares it with a flowing river. Consistent with the role of past, present and future in human agency,

Olney adds:

Memory can be imagined as the narrative course of the past becoming present and that it can be imagined also as the reflective, retrospective gathering up of that past-in-becoming into this present-as-being (Olney 1980: 241).

Critics of the qualitative interview as a research methodology question the veracity of memory and the selectivity of stories told. Gusdorf (1980: 43), however, writes that:

In autobiography the truth of facts is subordinate to the truth of the man, for it is first of all the man who is in question. The narrative offers us the testimony of a man about himself, the contest of a being in dialogue with itself, seeking its innermost fidelity (Gusdorf 1980: 43).

Schervish (1994) echoes Gusdorf when discussing truth and falsehood in the personal narratives of participants in the Study on Wealth and Philanthropy (See

Chapter Five, Section 5.1.3). He states that;

The major significance of autobiographical accounts resides in what they reveal about the motivational forces that shape a person’s life. If institutional analysis is better at documenting historical forces, biographical analysis is better at documenting what influences agency (Schervish 1994: 270).

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Schervish continues by explaining that it is not the literal veracity of the stories told that is illuminating. It is that such stories are told by participants in order to explain the motivating factors that lead to their decisions and actions.

The literature reviewed in Chapters Three and Four presented examples of the customs, traditions and other schema that influence the agency of the participants in the present research. The findings in Chapters Seven and Eight present autobiographical elements based on this epistemology which conform with the theoretical framework outlined in Chapter Five. The findings (See Chapters Nine to Thirteen) draw on elements of participants’ narratives in which they express themselves as agents acting philanthropically.

Method of research

This section discusses the methods used in order to obtain the data analysed in this thesis. It reports on both the benefits and the challenges experienced during the actual process of research.

Long interviews as a qualitative research method

The style of long interview adopted in this research was modelled on the precedent set by other studies of elite philanthropy. The long interview, described as best for elite interviewing by Aberbach and Rockman (2002), is one that is semi- structured and open-ended. A semi-structured interview is explained by Galletta (2012:

1-2) as “... sufficiently structured to address specific dimensions of your research question …” and, open-ended as “… while also leaving space for study participants to offer new meanings to the topic of study”.

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The long interview arose as a tool of consumer research in the 1930s (Dichter

1960 cited by Kvale 2006) and became popular in the social sciences with the adoption of grounded theory, a branch of qualitative research founded by Glaser and Strauss

(1967).73 The advantages of long interviews over other qualitative research methods such as participatory fieldwork, participant observation or focus groups are time efficiency and privacy (Huggins 2014; McCracken 1988; Thomas 1995). Long interviews give us “... access to individuals without violating their privacy or testing their patience,” says McCracken (1988: 11).

Long interviews provide the time to allow respondents to answer and explain in their own terms (Baxter and Eyles 1997; England 1994; Gilding 2010; Kvale 2006;

Schoenberger 1991). The role of the interviewer (see Section 6.3.10) is to encourage storytelling. This is best done by asking open questions, avoiding imposing formulaic, academic or research terms on the participant, and allowing them to explain their own experiences in their own words and style.

As a qualitative method, long interviews have attracted criticism. “We are concerned about the widespread, sometimes uncritical, adoption of the interview, and an unreflective endorsement of the core assumptions of the interview society,” say

Atkinson and Silverman (1997: 304). Their concern is the danger of privileging or giving too much credence to the “self-revealing speaking subject” (Atkinson and Silverman

1997: 322). The experience of Gilding (2010) is relevant to this concern. Gilding’s interviews of Australian super rich drew him to the conclusion that his elite participants held two motivations—“wanting to promote their concerns to a wider audience”; and

73 The methodology used for this research, however, while interpretivist is not a grounded theory methodology.

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“wanting to reflect upon their predicaments in confidence” (Gilding 2010: 755). An epistemological and ontological counter-argument to the criticism of privileging the subject is made above (Section 6.2.5). It is from participants’ self-revelations that the researcher can learn the motivating factors that lead to their actions

Preparation

Before the interviewing began, I undertook a review of the English language

Indian press as well as the review of the literature on Indian philanthropy appearing as

Chapter Three. During 2011 there had been a great deal of press coverage including interviews with some of India’s HNWI74 philanthropists. The visit by Bill Gates and

Warren Buffet to India that year, as part of their Giving Pledge campaign to encourage

HNWI philanthropy, was the spur for this press interest. The press review consisted of

144 items available from the internet. Two publications, Livemint and The Economic

Times published a series of articles specifically focusing on philanthropy around the time of the visit of Gates and Buffet. These consisted of 47 and 25 individual articles respectively. Together all these articles gave a valuable overview of Indian philanthropy, especially contemporary HNWI philanthropy. This review of the press (a report of which, together with a bibliography, is provided as Appendix E) turned up both interviews involving and articles written by some of the participants to this research. This offered a source of triangulation—comparing data from interviews with other sources. This approach is recommended by authorities in quantitative and elite interviewing (Aberbach and Rockman 2002; Baker and Edwards 2012; Baxter and Eyles

74 HNWI is generally used to describe a person or household with assets of $1 million or more (excluding primary residence, collectibles and consumables) World Wealth Report 2010, Capgemini and Merrill Lynch.

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1997; Cochrane 1998; McCracken 1988; Mikecz 2012; Mullings 1999). This triangulation largely comprised discovering corroboration for participants’ narrative descriptions of their activities in websites and other publications associated with their philanthropy. This approach is consistent with what is described by Flick (2018) citing

Hammersley and Atkinson (1995) as technique triangulation: “Often several forms of data are collected through talking to people, observing practices, being a participant, analyzing documents, and the like” (Flick 2018: 537). A bibliography of documents and websites directly related to participants is also provided.

The review of the press, which is included as Appendix E to this thesis, informed the investigation in other ways. In addition to the literature review presented in

Chapter Two, it informed the interview schedule (see Section 6.3.5) and, in particular, confirmed the particular vocabulary likely to be used in discussion of philanthropy.

Words used in Western discourse such as philanthropy, charity, donation, gift, giving are commonly used by the elite in India. In addition, it was evident that the phrase giving back is often used as a synonym for philanthropy. Also, the word dãn (or dãna or daan) features often in the media discourse. Secondly, this review enabled production of a list of publicly identified philanthropists who could be added to a wish list of those who might be invited to participate. The actual process of inviting participation in the investigation, or recruitment, is described below (Section 6.3.6).

Interviews conducted in English

The review of the English language press answered the question whether English would be an appropriate language in which to conduct interviews. English is an official language of India, though not widely spoken throughout all regions, communities or

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social classes of India.75 English is, however, the official language of government

(Government of India 1947) and higher education, as explained in Chapter Four

(Section 4.9).

The media coverage gave comfort that the investigation would primarily be of an elite whose education, consistent with the description of the Indian elite above (Section

6.1.2), had been Western, which in India means it has been conducted in the English language. To reinforce this point, of the 52 people initially identified as philanthropists in the press coverage above, all but one attended a university or equivalent level institute at which English is the language of instruction and examination. Appendix F provides a list of the universities attended by each of these 52 named philanthropists. A similar higher educational profile was discovered to exist with the actual participants.

Table 6.1 provides that data for the philanthropists interviewed.

Table 6.1: Education background of participants Secondary Tertiary

Ahan Doon School St. Xavier’s College (University of Calcutta)* Ajay Doon School Kellogg School of Management (North Western University), Liverpool University Ajit St Xavier’s Delhi School of Economics; Asian Institute of (Hazaribagh) Management (Manilla) Amit Doon School Indian Institute of Technology (Kanpur) Anup Doon School University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill* Anya St. Xavier’s College (University of Mumbai); Tata Institute of Social Sciences Arjun Shri Ram College of Commerce, University of Delhi* Arvind St Xavier’s Collegiate Yale School, Calcutta* Ashim Boston College* Darsh The Scindia School Brunel University; Imperial College

75 A 2010 survey found, “Among men, 72 per cent do not speak English, 28 per cent speak at least some English, and 5 per cent are fluent. Among women the corresponding proportions are 83 percent, 17 percent and 3 percent” (Desai et al. 2010: 39).

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Kundan Bishop Cotton Girls’ Bangalore University, University of Ballarat* School, Bangalore* Lionel Tsinghua University, Beijing, INSEAD, Singapore Nantha National Institute of Engineering (Mysore); Indian n Institute of Technology, Kanpur Pallavi Sophia College (Mumbai)*, London School of Economics Parizad Sophia College (Mumbai) Prahbu Doon School INSEAD, Paris Prasad St Xavier’s (Calcutta) Wharton School (University of Pennsylvania) * Ragini St. Xavier’s College (University of Mumbai); Tata Institute of Social Sciences Rashmi Elphinstone College (University of Mumbai), Cambridge University Shaila Modern School (New Hindu College (University of Delhi) Delhi) Venya Indian Institute of Management (Ahmedabad) Zahira St Xavier’s College (University of Mumbai)

* Indicates information obtained from internet. Otherwise from participant.

Research ethics

Another outcome from the review of the Indian English language press was sufficient information about the characteristics of those likely to be interviewed for inclusion in an application to the Swinburne University Human Research Ethics

Committee (SUHREC). In the application it was stated that some participants will be public figures who might potentially be identified from the descriptive profiles and comments.

It was, in fact, true that many of the participants are public figures in the sense that they and their names appear in the media related to their business or to their philanthropic activities. Confidentiality was promised to participants in writing by the consent form signed by them and the researcher. Every participant signed a consent form. Confidentiality and other terms of the interviews were also explained verbally before each interview. Although it was agreed that participants’ names might be used

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with written consent, the thesis uses pseudonyms. The consent form is included as

Appendix G.

Formal clearance for the conduct of this research, as with any research undertaken by staff or students at an Australian university, is governed by the National

Statement on Ethical Conduct in Human Research (2007). The research project was submitted for ethical review by the SUHREC and approved at a meeting held on 8

February 2013 as SUHREC Project 2013/012.

The interview schedule

Typically, the long interview requires the development of an interview schedule or protocol which is developed from the researcher’s analysis of the literature and sharpened by the particular research problem (Ganga and Scott 2006; Peabody et al.

1990; Ryan and Bernard 2003; Strauss and Corbin 1998). From my analysis of the literature discussed in Chapter Two, five lines of enquiry were identified. These are largely adapted from a final protocol Schervish and Herman (1988: 21) describe, which enabled their research to “to capture the richness and complexity of the narratives we heard yet at the same time abstract from them to construct a broad conceptual and theoretical understanding of the dynamics of wealth and philanthropy”.

A. Biographical background

B. The meaning and importance of wealth

C. Patterns and frameworks of philanthropy

D. Significance of religion and caste to philanthropy

E. Philanthropy and government

This list, which was also submitted as a part of the application to the Ethics

Committee (See Section 6.3.4), was sent to participants, as recommended by Thomas

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(1993, 1995). In most interviews, these five lines of enquiry were reiterated verbally at the outset of the interviews consistent with Aberbach and Rockman (2002), Huggins

(2014) and Thomas (1995). This reiteration acted as much as a reminder to the interviewer as the participants, of the areas that were to be discussed, helped settle nerves, and was intended to enable any questions or objections to the topics. No participant voiced objections.

Thereafter during the interview questions took their own route. As McDowell found in her interviews, it became apparent it is not possible to ask the same question the same way: “The attitudes and reactions of ‘subjects’ to the question affect their interaction and the learning process means we become more skilled interviewers as our research progresses” (McDowell 1998: 2138).

Sampling technique and recruitment

The sampling and recruitment design emulated Breeze and Lloyd (2013) and

Scaife et al. (2011) by initially interviewing people who work in the philanthropy sector—referred to in this thesis as philanthropoids—a definition of this term is given in

Chapter Two (Section 2.1)—as well as philanthropists. The input of philanthropoids was also a partial substitute for the strategy used by Schervish and Herman (1988) of approaching individuals prominent in philanthropy to be part of an Advisory Board.76

The recruitment of participants began with the philanthropoids. They were leaders, mostly either chief executive or chair, of the small group of organisations involved in promoting philanthropy and fundraising in India. Some of these individuals were known to the researcher through participation at conferences or other

76 Schervisch and Herman (1988) describe a more widely composed Advisory Board comprising individuals drawn from philanthropy, education, politics, and business.

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professional networking contexts. These organisations included the Centre for

Advancement of Philanthropy, Charities Aid Foundation, the Dasra Indian Philanthropy

Forum, the Resource Alliance, the South Asian Fundraising Group, Sampradaan Indian

Centre for Philanthropy. The intention of interviewing these participants was both to obtain initial insights into the research question and further input into framing the questions to be put to the philanthropists.

As Schervish and Herman (1988) reported doing with their Advisory Board, these initial participants were asked to suggest names of prominent philanthropists for interview and, where they are in a position to do so personally contact potential participants. In the event, only two of these philanthropoids provided introductions to philanthropists. The others indicated that they and their organisations lacked direct connections to elite philanthropists.

Notwithstanding the lack of introductions from the initial round of interviews of philanthropoids, I continued to use this technique of seeking introductions from most of the philanthropists interviewed both verbally at the end of the interview and in a thank you email sent shortly afterwards. Schervish and Herman (1988: 13) call this method of involving participants in recruitment, as both a branching method and a snowball technique. Branching is perhaps more apt, as the process involved many directions; snowball sampling could be indicative of any homogeneity of participants or selection bias (Petersen and Valdez 2005), which was not the case. In addition, there were other individuals with whom I had connections who provided introductions to philanthropists. Two introductions arose through the social network Linked In. Another source of participant arose through introducing myself to philanthropists at

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conferences. Table 6.2 below indicates how participants were recruited, and Table 6.3 provides an indication of the varied social demography of participants.

Table 6.2: How participants were introduced Number Introduction Introduction Type of Due to of type to philanth- to philanth- introduction due to ropoids ropists

Introduction Colleague of 8 1 11 to researcher the researcher made by Philanthropoid 2 6 participant Philanthropist 3 6 participant Previously Contact made known to 5 by researcher researcher At a conference 1 5 Through 1 1 Linked In Approached 2 1 direct

Table 6.3: Socio-demographic information for participants

Alias Thumbnail Home Ag F Religion Community Indication of profile e / /Caste wealth M (public sources) Ashim Indian Mumbai 47 M “Neutral” managing director of an international professional firm. Darsh Founder of a Delhi 41 M Buddhist Estimate of media and family wealth telecom held by his group and father USD scion of a $1.07 billion business (Forbes.com) family. Lionel Former Singapore 50 M Christian Invested own international USD $1M in social enterprise 131

FMCG77 sales director who founded a hybrid NGO/social enterprise. Shaila NGO leader Delhi 40 F Hindu Bania and social activist married to a wealthy entrepreneur. Pallavi Founder and Mumbai 41 F Hindu Family director of wealth child health estimated as foundation USD $590 and a chair of million a business (therichest.c family om) foundation. Amit Businessman Delhi M Hindu and chair of a family philanthropic trust. Prabhu Businessman Delhi 45 M Hindu who heads a family trust which runs a school and clinic. Arvind Retired Delhi 46 M Hindu Said to hold securities $122.5 broker now million in heading self- stock funded markets education (Quartz foundation. India) Arjun CEO and chair Delhi 52 M Hindu Estimated of a wealth USD construction $785 million company. (Forbes.com) Prasad Exec-chair of London 52 M Hindu family manufacturin g and media business. Rashmi Founder of Bangalore 56 F Hindu Family self-funded wealth

77 Fast Moving Consumer Goods.

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NGO and estimated as leading voice USD $1.81 in Billion philanthropy. (Forbes.com) Nanthan IT business Bangalore 69 M Hindu Estimated founder. wealth USD $2.47 Billion (Forbes.com) Ajit Retired Mumbai M Hindu International investment banker. Ajay Social Mumbai M Hindu Entrepreneur and scion of a business family. Ahan Chair of a Bangalore M Hindu family manufacturin g and trading business. Suman Financial Mumbai M Jain Investment Services firm founder. Arul Diamond Mumbai M Jain merchant. Venya Investment Mumbai 49 F Hindu Brahmin bank co- founder. Salman Businessman, Delhi 50 M Muslim company director and philanthropis t. Rahul Director of Delhi 60 M Muslim Estimated family owned USD $7.6 telecom billion family business and wealth chair of its (Forbes.com) philanthropic foundation. Sabith B Property Bangalore M Muslim developer. Zahira Former Mumbai 50 F Parsi Parsi Business sold entertainmen for $454 t million in entrepreneur 2010 now running (FT.com) a self-funded NGO. 133

Ragini Director of a Pune 58 F Parsi Parsi family business, chair of company foundation and board member of several nonprofits. Parizad Member of a Fort 64 F Parsi Parsi Estimated prominent Mumbai $12 billion industrial Family dynasty. wealth (Forbes.com) Delara Trustee and Mumbai F Parsi Parsi former trust executive with a family link to two prominent philanthropic dynasties. Anya Chair of a Pune F Parsi Parsi Estimated family wealth $1.24 business, MP billion and social (Forbes.com) activist. Kundan Company Bangalore 62 F Hindu Estimated founder and wealth USD CEO of a $2.38 billion leading (Forbes.com) Indian company. Anup Business Delhi M Hindu family member. CEO of a nonprofit.

In addition to the 28 named above information from a philanthropist who preferred not to be interviewed in person was provided by the director of his foundation, Ragunathan. This philanthropist’s details are as follows:

Moham Founder and chair of a Delhi 65 M Hindu Estimated wealth (2014) global infrastructure USD $1.04 billion developer.

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It is significant to note that each participant is described above as having a direct or indirect (in the sense of being a member of a business family though not necessarily actively involved) connection with business. This is consistent with what Mitra (1992) described as mercantilism and Bottomore (1993) as the dynastic element of elites in developing nations such as India (See Section 6.1.2).

Place of interview

The place of interviews was left to the discretion of the participant. McDowell

(1998) suggested it was something she negotiated; Huggins (2014) and Thomas (1993) propose being prepared to meet participants at a time and in a place convenient to them: “This is more than just a matter of courtesy; executives jealously guard their time

(even if only for outward appearances)” says Thomas (1993: 87). By far the majority of interviews took place in a workplace, in either the participant’s private office or a meeting room. The next most usual setting was a cafe or restaurant, sometimes in an exclusive club; on one occasion this involved not just a coffee but a meal. Three took place in private homes. One interview occurred, rather charmingly, in a botanic garden.

Outdoor settings and noisy eating places are challenging to the audio recording device

(Harvey 2010; Huggins 2014). I used an audio recording application on two separate mobile phones for each interview, these rose to noisy occasions.

One of the interviews had to be done by telephone. The participant had been hard to pin down and was apologetic. The researcher fortuitously met this participant by chance later while waiting to meet another participant and had an opportunity to chat informally. That chance meeting aided the process of subjectively interpreting the data obtained through the interview, by offering a better sense of who he was from his demeanour, his dress and from how he behaved and related to the interviewer. This

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participant became one of those with whom there was further correspondence (see

Section 6.3.16).

Length of interview

The average length of the interviews was 60 minutes; the shortest was 28 minutes; the longest was 141 minutes. There were three interviews when time was constrained by circumstance. The shortest was curtailed because the room where it was conducted was being used for the conference where we met. A second, which was also cut short by the same conference, was supplemented by a second interview some months later. The other constrained interview was with the chair and founder of a large corporation: 30 minutes was allocated for the meeting and it concluded almost exactly on time. Other interviews ran until I de-activated the audio recording devices, having reached a mutually acceptable conclusion. My professional experience of conducting similar interviews aided both judging the time available and steering the narratives through the lines of enquiry ( A-E) (See Section 6.3.5) before time ran out. In some cases, however, the conversations continued after the recorders were off. I made notes of any salient points after I left the location.

Most participants had been asked for 60 minutes of their time for interviews, though 45 minutes was asked of some who held business leadership roles. The shorter request was based on previous professional experience by the researcher of negotiating interviews with people in these roles. Harvey (2011) and Conti and O’Neil (2007) learned this lesson, as Harvey reported

Conti and O’Neil’s (2007: 71) experience of a government official beginning an interview by saying ‘What can I tell you in 45 minutes?’ is from my experience a typical attitude that many elites adopt in terms of time. (Harvey 2011: 436)

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Not all of those asked for the shorter 45 minutes confined themselves to that duration and their interviews ran much longer. Among others who have researched

Western elites, Gilding (2004), McDowell (1998), and Mikecz (2012) report longer interviews averaging around 90 minutes. John et al. (2013) report their interviews of

Asian philanthropists typically lasted 45–90 minutes.

Recording interviews vs. note-taking

All the interviews were audio recorded and transcribed. This is a common, though not universal, technique for elite interviews. Ostrander (1995: 146) took notes rather than recordings, “… because of the exorbitant amount of time that transcribing taped interviews takes, because I am focusing in on particular issues and don’t need a full transcript, and because I’ve learned to take notes well enough”. Harvey (2011: 437), conversely, argues “qualitative data is lost regardless of how fast researchers can write”.

More researchers of elites than not, however, do recommend recording interviews (Aberbach and Rockman 2002; Huggins 2014; McCracken 1988; Mikecz

2012; Peabody et al. 1990; Thomas 1993). The primary advantage of recording in my experience was, to borrow from Huggins (2014: 14): “I could focus on the interview, the questions and participants’ responses, rather than trying to capture everything that was said in detailed notes”. Recording, rather than relying on note-taking helps ensure the interview was conversational (Aberbach and Rockman 2002; Peabody et al. 1990). The significant difference between the interviews I often conduct as a consultant and those as researcher, therefore the reason for recording rather than note-taking, is the depth and richness of the data captured. For a consultant the focus is usually much more limited and, as for Ostrander (1995) above, focused on particular issues.

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I only occasionally took a few notes during interview, though I wrote notes at the end of the day. My experience in professional life, when sometimes I take sparing notes during interview, has often been similar to that explained by Roulston et al. (2003 cited by Harvey 2010: 201). The description is of an interview subject who, when they saw the researcher writing, stopped talking which made the interviewer feel she had to explain what she was writing.

No participant declined to be recorded. One had anticipated making her own recording out of habitual caution until it was explained that she would receive a transcript. On two occasions inadvertently neither recorder was activated. In both cases notes were written up immediately afterwards and shared with a sincere apology, with the participants. A fresh interview was successfully sought with the one of the two participants who was a philanthropist. In the case of the philanthropoid, I chose not to request one.

Conducting the interview

The interviews were kept as conversational as possible (Aberbach and Rockman

2002; Harvey 2010; Josselson 2013; Kvale 2007). Almost always, after repeating the lines of enquiry A-E (see Section 6.3.5), the participant was asked to talk about themselves. As Aberbach and Rockman (2002: 675) remark, “Starting with innocuous questions about the person’s background facilitates this [conversational style] since people find talking about themselves about as fascinating as any subject they know”.

More practically, asking people to talk about themselves was a good way to acclimatise the participant to talking, and the researcher to listening. The most beneficial result, however, of this technique was that it provided a frame for drawing out the autobiographical narratives from participants that the research required.

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Although some interviewers recommend preparing by researching the backgrounds of those to be interviewed (Kvale 2007; Mikecz 2012; Ostrander 1995;

Richards 1996), I did not. The background of some, however, was known to me from press coverage and other literature. The rationale for not undertaking detailed research of participant was influenced by my training in the techniques of Neurolinguistic

Programming (NLP), a technique used in counselling and other therapies (Bostic St Clair and Grinder 2001; De Lozier and Grinder 1987). NLP trains its practitioners to avoid presuppositions or applying their own cognitive filters to any dialogue with participants

(Collingwood 2016). NLP also teaches that rapport is a natural by-product of showing interest in what someone has to say (Collingwood 2016).78 My reluctance to pre-load biographical detail was that it enabled me avoid presupposing autobiographical information thereby potentially hindering discovering fresh information. Additionally, the questions I asked came from a place of genuine interest and discovery, therefore rapport was soon established. Huggins (2014: 13) says, “A successful interview depends on a rapport being built up between the researcher and participant”. The experience of these interviews, as for researchers such as Drew (2014), Huggins (2014), Kvale (2006),

Mikecz (2012), Peabody et al. (1990) and Richards (1996), was that after rapport and a conversational flow (where the participant was free to talk mostly uninterrupted) was established, participants talked readily and rich data ensued. The role of the researcher was to probe more deeply into answers and to guide their narratives through the lines of enquiry. The researcher attempted not to interrupt or overly direct the conversation, despite on occasion being asked by the speaker whether a story they were relating was relevant to the enquiry.

78 The cited author has been one of the teachers of NLP to this researcher.

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In the qualitative research long interview as in the therapeutic interview, the aim is to allow one of the partners to dominate the conversational flow (the participant).

The interviewer’s skill is both to keep their partner on track yet follow turns and sequences of the dialogue that may lead somewhere interesting. Berry (2002: 679)

(2002: 679) suggests that “Open-ended questioning—the riskiest but potentially most valuable type of elite interviewing—requires interviewers to know when to probe and how to formulate questions on the fly.” Josselson (2013: 8) describes this approach to interviewing as “... moving with the participants and trying to ask as few questions as possible”. She also often refers to the interview as a dance. My experience of interviewing is that metaphor of pas-de deux, the classical dance partnership between two dancers is apt because, for example, ideally the dancers move together as one, and if there is a hesitation or a falter in the flow one partner will correct it.

NLP trained counsellors, or interviewers, are alert to linguistic and other patterns that act as signals demanding probing and prompting the participant (Abbe and Brandon 2014; Bartkowiak 2012; Hejase 2015; Pishghadam and Shayesteh 2014;

Pishghadam et al. 2011; Sandoval and Adams 2001). When the conversation was proceeding well, following the lines of enquiry of interest to the research, the gentlest of probing was all that was required. When the conversation was veering into uninformative areas new questions were needed to direct the participant back on course.

There were two lines of enquiry (Section 6.3.5) in the research that I initially feared might be uncomfortable. One was the discussion of wealth; the other of caste. In both cases the perception of discomfort was based on my Western sensibility of these topics. As described above (Section 6.3.10), the lines of enquiry were explained to

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participants before the interview. In the conversations themselves discussion of wealth often fitted naturally into the explanations and descriptions of the participant’s biography. It should be noted that the research did not enquire directly into measures of wealth or income. In many cases, though, estimates of the wealth of those whom I interviewed were a matter of public record (see Table 6.3). One participant asked, in a subsequent conversation, whether participants had been asked about what percentage of their wealth they gave through philanthropy. A few participants did volunteer answers to this question unasked as reported in Chapter Seven (Section 7.6).

The enquiry around caste was intended to discover if the participant’s own caste had any influence on their philanthropy; and, in particular, what, if any, bias or attitudes to giving by participants to specific castes or communities might there be. As a

Westerner, I have a pejorative notion of caste and caste-consciousness. I framed this enquiry in interview slightly differently than in the interview schedule and repeated in the consent letter (see Section 6.3.5 and Appendix G) using the phrase “caste, community or religion”, as my understanding of the relationship between these concepts had developed and as it seemed to be a less potentially offensive formulation. I did not directly inquire into any person’s own caste, assuming it to be a somewhat inappropriate question.79 Nonetheless, on some occasions, an answer was volunteered unasked. In other instances, information on a participant’s religion, community or caste is discoverable from the press or other public sources.

79 I was later told by an Indian friend that it was an “unusual” question, in social discourse rather than offensive.

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Secondary materials provided by participants during or following interviews

Some participants provided additional materials to support points they made during the interviews. Most noteworthy of such additional materials was the use by

Arul during interview of a PowerPoint presentation, featuring photos he himself had taken, illustrating people and conditions, many of which provided documentary evidence of the extreme poverty and disabilities suffered by the Musahar or Rat

Eater'people described in Chapter Eleven (Section ). Arul also provided two background documents on the foundation's letterhead which supported facts and statistics he had provided an interview. Other participants who similarly provided published information were Kundan in the form of a press article , Sabith in the form of published prospectuses relating to the institutions he supported and Zahira offered a published foundation report.In many cases docukments similar to these are available through websites associated with the philanthropic activities of participants. Prasad provided a copy of a slide explaining the structure of Arjun shared a copy of correspondence with a member of parliament that backed some of the statements he made during interview. These primary documents, including websites, are not cited in text as they expose the identity of the participant. They do however provide a valuable source of triangulation for the data provided during interview.

Transcriptions of interviews

Fairclough (2003: 199) suggests, “Even producing a transcription of a spoken text inevitably entails fixing on an interpretation of it”. In order to mitigate privileging the researcher’s interpretation, all participants were sent transcriptions of their

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interview with the offer that, “You may also add to, subtract or amend remarks as you feel appropriate to ensure accurate representation of your contribution”.

Most of the recordings were first transcribed by a third party contractor based in

India (with an appropriate guarantee of confidentiality). It had been expected this would lead to accurate transcription of Indian accented English and of Indian personal and place names. This was not actually so and it was necessary to listen to transcripts several times and correct them before I was confident that they were as accurate as they needed to be. Sometimes it required listening to a longer portion of the recording, not just the immediate segment surrounding the unclear word or phrase. This way the rhythm and cadence of the conversation as well as the sense in which it was framed made the unclear part more obvious. These challenges are well recognised by Rubin and

Rubin:

The downside of having someone else type the transcription is that the person listening to the recording of the interview was not there, does not know the names of people or places mentioned on the transcript, and cannot fill in from memory parts that are inaudible. You have to go through transcripts done by others carefully to make sure that they have not introduced major mistakes (Rubin & Rubin 2005: 204-205).

The advantage of me going through transcripts, again and again, was that their content becomes increasingly familiar. Listening again also re-evoked the memories of each interview and aided recall of the meetings.

In a few cases participants made minor factual amendments. More significant were the few who objected to the transcripts overall. Early transcripts were precise, including grammatical errors and stalling words such as um and ah (Rubin and Rubin

2005). Two participants voiced concerns after reading these precise transcripts and were given assurance that they would not be published in this precise way. A third

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withdrew his permission to use the transcript. His concern was very specific that his command of English was poor and he was extremely uncomfortable when reading the result. After negotiation and two more meetings with him, which took place during a twelve-month period after the initial interview, he agreed to give consent to the use of agreed portions of his responses to specific questions. With such hindsight, later transcripts were less precise. As Rubin and Rubin (2005: 204) point out, “For most projects, transcripts do not need to be this perfect”.

Coding the transcripts

Coding of the interviews used three quite different techniques. The three processes used were initially, thematic; then a form of discourse analysis was adopted, coding on vocabulary representing elements of discourse; and finally, a coding technique focusing on verbs, particularly gerunds as suggested by Carmichael and

Cunningham (2017); Charmaz (2012); Charmaz and Keller (2016). The benefit of this coding technique, where participants are using verbs describing their own actions, is that it fits with the epistemology of agency and action discussed above (Section 6.2.5).

The technique leads most directly to the coding of narrative description by participants of themselves planning and doing—as agentic actors “formulating projects for the future and realizing them … in the present” (Emirbayer and Mische 1998: 964).

Post-interview

As stated by the letter outlining the rights of the participants (See Appendix G) the people interviewed were sent a copy of transcripts of their interview with the offer that they add to, subtract or amend remarks as they felt appropriate “to ensure accurate representation of their contribution”.

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Sending transcripts of interviews and the researcher’s interpretation of data to participants, as I have done, is not without its risks (Smith 2006). Bradshaw (2001), in fact, cautions against what he describes as contracts and member checking with elite research participants. In my case, however, as already described, participants had been required to sign consent forms for the interviews (these are what Bradshaw describes as contracts) and were sent transcripts or interviews and final copy for amendment

(what Bradshaw calls member checking). Bradshaw (2001) was compelled to place a 15- year embargo on any access to his doctoral dissertation because of objections raised by two corporations whose senior managers he interviewed. A similar concern was expressed by Parry (1998), though in her case she did not report whether the concern arose from actuality. Her concern was:

... how the staggered release of such information might affect the ongoing nature of my research, given the research depends on securing continued access to these informants? To risk estranging particular informants is not simply to risk their disapprobation but also the successful completion of the entire research project (Parry 1998:2159-60).

I tested the staggered release issue with some trepidation by circulating a draft of a journal article containing some preliminary research findings (Godfrey 2016a). Two of my participants gave positive feedback, the remainder made no comments. Further contact with some participants occurred in respect of two newspaper articles that I was invited to write during the course of my research (Godfrey 2015, 2016b). For each article, I interviewed some participants again by email or phone.

My positionality and reflexivity

Positionality, as discussed above (Section 6.2.3) requires me to be transparent regarding my identity and biography. Reflexivity, when dealing with findings, requires me to be aware of my own stance and make this explicit. Above (Section 6.2.3) an 145

example of the positionality of Odendahl (1990) is given. It is a reasonable approximation of my position. More so than Odendahl, though, who describes herself as

“on the edge… of the culture of philanthropy” (Odendahl 1990: xii), my livelihood as a philanthropy consultant, who professionally meets and interviews members of the elite, intersects directly with the “social structure” (Odendahl 1990: xii) of wealthy philanthropists. My ability to connect with participants both before when setting up interviews (and sometimes after the interviews, as with some participants as recounted above (Section 6.3.14) was a product of my positionality. My ability to relate to them, maintain confidence and discuss their values and beliefs is a part of my professional skills as a consultant. In turn, these skills are a product of my biography.

Some scholars, including Odendahl (1990) and Reich (2013a, b, 2018b) refer to pluralism in their critique of elite philanthropy. Reich (2013a) links pluralism and civil society to a flourishing democracy. Something similar could be made as a statement of my political stance. I cannot condemn and do not seek to overturn social and economic inequity given I work within its structure. My professional work could be seen as being an agent for the amelioration of inequality but not its destruction.

As an insight into this stance, some autobiography about my first adult job is offered. I had left what was considered an elite secondary school,80 eschewed university life and took a position as a trainee manager in a luxury hotel. Though I only stayed there a year, the appeal was that it provided me a prismatic view of society by which I could observe its various hues. In the time that I was there, the hotel played host to a US

Vice President, a famous Hollywood actress, as well as sundry local political and social heavyweights. At the same time, I worked alongside and socialised with refugees,

80 It was, for example, selected by the British Royal Family for one of their Princes to attend for a time.

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immigrants and members of the working class (not using that term pejoratively, yet socialising with the working class was, at that time in my life, a new experience).

To summarise, as both a corporate and major gift fundraiser I have spent nearly

30 years engaging with and interviewing elites in business, politics and wider society.

Yet I only very rarely spend time within their social structures. My career is significant in my positioning both as interlocutor with my research informants and in the analysis, interpretation and presentation of the data.

Collaboration and complicity in this research

Although this research is not ethnographic, the way Geertz (1973b: 19) explains the ethnographer seems apt, as someone who “... ‘inscribes’ social discourse; he writes it down. In so doing, he turns it from a passing event, which exists only in its own moment of occurrence, into an account, which exists in its inscriptions and can be reconsulted” (1973: 19). Elsewhere in the same publication he says, “The aim of anthropology is the enlargement of the universe of human discourse” (Geertz 1973: 14).

It could be said that enlarging the discourse around elite Indian philanthropy is what this research project is intended to do. Marcus (2001), another ethnographer whose work has often focused on elites, offers a paradigm which has a particular salience for studying up. He coined the term complicity to identify the development of a newer collaborative approach to ethnography. In this approach, he describes how instead of an oppositional investigation of the other, ethnographers have become “co-producers of interpretations that we elicit, cajole, contest or share” (Marcus 2001: 523) from or with respondents. He continued:

This means that the ethnographer inevitably establishes working partnerships with varieties of self-conscious cultural producers such as himself or herself and for which there really is no regulative ideal or modality in current or past fieldwork practice (Marcus 2001: 524). 147

I argue that my experience—as a professional in the world of philanthropy used to interacting with wealthy and powerful people—equipped me well for the interactions from which the primary research data for this project is drawn. I believe that this claim to experience of philanthropy, and the way in which this was regarded by some participants, enabled me to establish working partnerships with them in order to

“clarify what goes on” and “to reduce the puzzlement” (Geertz 1973b: 16). Among those who were interviewed, as already noted (Section 6.3.14) there were several to whom the researcher returned for comments and assistance and whom he also interviewed for two press articles on aspects of philanthropy in India (Godfrey 2015, 2016b). This, it is proposed, is consistent with what Marcus (2001) explains as the ethnologist’s trope rapport being replaced with the concept of collaboration.

My research has led to invitations to events at which philanthropy has been central, meeting with philanthropists and those who work with philanthropy, joining in discussions about philanthropy. These included:

• Indian Philanthropy Forum, Mumbai, March 2013 • Asian Venture Philanthropy Network, Singapore, April 2013 • Asian Venture Philanthropy Network, Singapore, May 2014 • Centre for Advanced Philanthropy Anniversary Dinner (Presentation by Prof. Mark Sidel and Panellist Discussion), Mumbai, January 2014 • Chandigarh Chamber of Commerce, CSR Conference, Chandigarh, August 2015

Additionally, it has led to informal conversations with many practitioners and requests to participate in or contribute to other initiatives, not all of which have been realised, or possible. During the period of my undertaking this research, I was an active

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participant in the relatively circumscribed world of philanthropists and philanthropy in

India.

Summary and conclusions

The choice of the methodology for this research was influenced by the resources of the researcher, and the nature of the project. Long interviews were selected as the most effective method for interviewing elites. Long interviews allow participants free rein to talk about their philanthropic activity in their own terms (see Section 6.3.1). This approach is consistent with the other qualitative research into elite philanthropy cited throughout the dissertation (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Lloyd 2004; Odendahl 1990;

Ostrower 1995; Scaife et al. 2011; Scaife et al. 2012; Schervish and Herman 1988).

Interviewing elites runs converse to the usual pattern of qualitative research because the participant is often in a more powerful economic or political position than the investigator. The methodology adopted for this and other research of elites relies on the positionality and reflexivity of the researcher. This research is value laden because the researcher comes to it with a particular stance—positionality and reflexivity mean that the researcher makes this stance clear and how it might affect the findings. This type of research is interpretivist because the subjectivity of the researcher interacts with that of the participants. My professional life requires interaction with philanthropists and those who work with them. This both equipped me with the skills and connections to gain access to participants and gave the participants the confidence to discuss their philanthropy with me. I was welcomed by many of the participants as someone who was knowledgeable about philanthropy and with whom they were willing to share their own stories.

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The data on which this research is based consists of narratives, stories told by participants of their past, present and imagined future. From this data I draw indications concerning the motivating factors and goals of their philanthropy. The epistemology of this research follows that of Schervish and colleagues who have extensively explored the philanthropy of the wealthy in the US. It has its basis in the concept of structure and agency as theorised by Emirbayer and Mische (1998), Giddens

(1979, 1984) and Sewell (1992).

The next eight chapters analyse the data obtained using the methodology and methods explained in this chapter. The first two of these examine how autobiographical elements of stories told by participants conformed with the theoretical framework used.

The remaining six analyse the past, present and planned philanthropic actions described by participants.

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THE IDENTIFICATION MODEL

Introduction

This chapter reports how the narratives of participants conform with the model

Schervish describes as an identification model which he has found provides the most valuable insights into the motivation of wealthy philanthropists. This model is one of two components which form the theoretical framework for this research. Chapter Eight discusses the second.

Figure 7.1 The identification model (Extract from Figure 5.1 The moral citizenship of care)

IDENTIFICATION MODEL

Communities of participation Frameworks of consciousness Invitations to participate Discretionary resources Models and experiences from one’s youth

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Identification theory

Identification theory, argues Schervish, is the most fruitful way to uncover the social and psychological frameworks that motivate the actions of philanthropists as individual agents (Schervish 2006, 2014a; Schervish and Havens 2002). This chapter will elaborate findings from interview narratives that illustrate where the stories told by the participant fit with the variables of the identification model.

The identification model, as discussed in Chapter Five was developed by

Schervish specifically as an alternative to altruism theory.81 Through their research,

Schervish and colleagues (Schervish 2000a, 2008; Schervish and Havens 2001b, 2002;

Schervish and Herman 1988) identified and continued to explore five significant variables which act as mobilising factors for the philanthropic behaviour of the wealthy:

i. Communities of participation

ii. Frameworks of consciousness

iii. Models and experiences from one’s youth

iv. Existence of discretionary resources

v. Invitations to participate

Communities of participation

Examples given by Schervish of communities of participation (See Section 5.3.1) are formal such as schools, soup kitchens, political parties, volunteer fire department, being a volunteer member of a co-operative nursery school or weekend soccer leagues; or informal, such as extended family (Schervish and Havens 1997). The present

81 By altruism theory Schervish is referring to the then predominant socio-biological, psychological and economic literature on altruism (see Piliavin, J. A. & Charng, H. W. 1990. “Altruism: A Review of Recent Theory and Research”. Annual Review of Sociology, 1990, 27-65).

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participants provided examples of scenarios that were different to the US experience, probably because of that society’s much stronger culture of organised associations and social networks. Examples given by participants were mostly of professional and formal networks. Formal networks include some organised around philanthropy itself, such as

Dasra, Give India and the Indian Philanthropy Initiative (IPI). In addition, service organisations such as Rotary, which have among their objects the promotion of charitable activity, were mentioned.

In India, equivalents to the culture of serving on the boards of nonprofit cultural institutions and membership of exclusive clubs such as, for example, Ostrower (1995) describes for the US, are harder to find and not mentioned by participants. Examples, however, will be given in Section 7.3.1 below of shared memberships of a number of significant philanthropic organisations. 82

Nonprofit board membership and other associations

Table 7.1 below identifies the formal associations, at the time they were interviewed, of five participants, resulting from their serving as members of either boards of trustees or advisory boards of the same nonprofit organisations. Noteworthy is that in every instance except one, Give India—the role of which is to promote giving to nonprofits in India of all kinds—these are organisations working in the field of education.

A wider net of association is shown in Table 7.2 in which is shown the data where participants have indicated relationships with nonprofit organisations—as donors, collaborators, or their association with the founder(s) of the organisation.

82 With the exception of Ashoka University, these organisations would normally be described as NGOs in India.

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Table 7.1: Nonprofit board memberships of participants

Ajit Anup Anya Arvind Ashim Rakesh Ashoka University ● ● Akanksha Foundation ● ● ● Central Square Foundation ● ● Dasra ● Give India ● ● Bharti Foundation ● ● Teach for India ● ● ● Education Alliance ● ●

Table 7.2: Wider network of association though nonprofit organisations

Nanthan Kundan Parizad Roshini Salman Rakesh Prasad Arvind Ragini Ashim Anup Anya Ajay Ajit

Ashkaya Patya D D Ashoka University X X Akanksha X X X Foundation Central Square X X Foundation Dasra R X D D Give India R X X Bharti Foundation X X C Teach for India X X X D Education Alliance X X Arghyam R X Narayana Hrudyalaya R X

X is a board member D described being a donor R described an association with the founder(s) C described a collaboration

Elite school networks

Ostrower (1995) additionally describes elite prep schools among the organisational cultures in which many of the US elite participate. Among the sample of 154

Indian philanthropists there is at least one case for which there is an analogy, though, this does not represent anything like the pervasiveness of such school communities in the US or, indeed, in other Western societies. This analogous case arises from five participants describing themselves as alumni of the Doon School, which is “... perhaps the most famous in all of India” according to MacDougall (1999: 4).

There was little mention by these five participants of interacting with other alumni of the same school. Only one participant directly described an ongoing relationship with another participant who was a Doon alumnus and they were uncle and nephew. Another mentioned interacting with fellow alumni in the context of making a class gift, and another interacted with the school itself by funding a scholarship. Also, among participants, three were alumnae of St Xavier’s College and two of Sophia College—both Colleges of the University of Mumbai. None of these mentioned the others as alumnae (See Table 6.1 for participants’ education).

Philanthropy networks

Ahan, who is a significant collector and art philanthropist, described his involvement in one particular example of a professional or formal network in the Indian

Foundation for the Arts (IFA), a national organisation established to support the arts and culture of India. Its website indicates the support and involvement of other members of the Indian elite.83 Ahan gave an example of how such communities draw people to them: a friend “... who was supporting IFA” introduced him.

Other participants described other philanthropic networks with which they had associations. The most prominent of these is the IPI, an initiative that arose from a visit

83 http://indiaifa.org/about-us/trustees-patrons-founder.html

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to India by Bill Gates and Warren Buffet. A reference to its origins was made in an interview:

Some of us have come together… Azim Premji’s leadership, Bill Gates’ pushing us. We’ve set up the India Philanthropy Initiative. And, I think in three years we’ve had a lot of traction. I spend a lot of my time on that and I feel very hopeful this year that we’ll see a lot more giving (Rashmi).

The membership of the IPI is not publicised, though, in addition to Rashmi four other participants—Anya, Arul, Kundan, Nanthan and Suman—mentioned their involvement. The Director of the IPI Secretariat, who was one of the philanthropoids interviewed, explained how this community functions as follows:

[H]elping promote the idea of philanthropy amongst the wealthy in India. And that’s done through different approaches. So, we have small group meetings. We have events, large events. We have thematic events. We have visits to project areas. The idea is to get people, you know, excited about giving and also, you know, to build understanding of the issues. Because there’s a lot of people here who want to do a lot, but they are not really sure where to start and which are the issues which are most pressing. Or which are the issues that are really pressing, underfunded, not very fashionable to fund. So, in those cases it is really useful to have some of these conversations, connect them to other people, facilitate some visits to project areas. So that’s how this initiative is structured. It’s more of an informal platform (Swatee).

A more formal organisation with which other participants (Ajay, Ajit, Ashim,

Ragini and Zahira) described their association is an enterprise called Dasra which describes itself as a catalyst in India’s philanthropic sector.84 One way in which Dasra catalyses philanthropy is by organising giving circles (See John 2014; John et al. 2013 for descriptions of Dasra’s giving circles), which could be considered in themselves as examples of communities of participation.85

84 https://www.dasra.org/

85 John et al. (2013) explain Giving Circles as engaging HNWIs and the more modestly wealthy class of business professionals in pooling their capital and skills and collaborating in support of non-profit organisations.

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Dasra initiatives with which participants described involvement include Ajit and

Zahira attending their annual philanthropy conference, (the Indian Philanthropy

Forum); Anya supporting Dasra training for nonprofit leaders; Ragini, both funding and drawing on Dasra research into social problems; and Ajay and Ajit describing their friendship with the organisation’s founders.

Another specifically philanthropic community of participation with which two participants (Venya and Suman) described their connection with is Caring Friends

(Mumbai), which is described on its website as “an informal group of friends, who have come together to act as a bridge between outstanding NGOs and donors”.86 The founder of Caring Friends, Ramesh Kochalia, was described by Venya as her guide and mentor when she was establishing the business foundation—created and funded by the firm which her husband founded—that she now leads. Kochalia, she said was “the father of a friend of mine, a very dear friend of mine”. The first three organisations the foundation funded were as a result of introductions and field visits organised by Kochalia. This relationship with Kochalia perhaps offers an example of another type of community of participation, the families of peers and friends. It is, however, important to contrast communities of participation with the pattern of communitarian philanthropy (Prince and File 1994) discussed in Chapter Two (Section 2.1.3). In communitarian philanthropy, the giving is directed at organisations and causes that benefit peers and friends themselves.

Suman described his involvement with Caring Friends in a more formally organised way. He explained how it functioned as a platform by which a small number of NGOs—previewed and approved after visits made by three or four people who also

86 https://sites.google.com/a/caringfriends.in/caring-friends/home.

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provide the selected NGOs some initial donations—are then introduced to a wider group of donors.

Caring Friends was one of the communities of association Suman used to decide what organisations to support. He explained that many suggestions came to him through peers. He also explained how it had been cousins that had originally introduced his brother and him to philanthropy; and that the cousins still collaborated closely in some activities. Additionally, one of his early commitments to supporting an NGO had come about because of the involvement of one of his staff in that NGO.

Rotary was mentioned by three participants. Rotary played a significant part not in Prabhu’s philanthropy but in that of his father who was a senior national office holder in the organisation. At one time, his father headed and fundraised for the Rotary Polio

Plus Campaign Committee for India, Sri Lanka, Nepal (Rotary International 1986).

Prabhu also related an anecdote describing how his father raised funds for a building for their family foundation’s school through Rotary connections. Rahul, who heads a large family foundation which supports education referred to his own Rotary Club seeking advice from him concerning how to support schools. Two other participants mentioned Rotary as background information about its role in contributing to philanthropy in India.

Informal peer associations

Less formal communities of association described included Arjun discussing participating in a small group of three prominent family business leaders. “I think we will have a discussion, not by design, but by default, at least once a month,” he said. He added that one of the benefits of this association was that he could contact one or other and ask a question related to philanthropy: “So we have a situation—I can pick up the

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phone and say what did you do? —Did you get a similar kind of...?” Salman described the origins of the health and education foundation he co-founded as being the outcome of four corporate friends sitting together and trying to decide how they could make an impact through giving. At the time two of the four worked for competing multinationals, one was a banker and the fourth an economist: “Just four of us and we got together, and we said what do we focus on? What should be the priorities?” In each of these cases there is a sense of enjoying the benefits of networking with other leaders and applying business principles described in Chapter Two by Prince and File (1994) as characteristic of communitarians (See Section 2.1.3).

Family ties

One other example of communities of association described by participants as related to philanthropy were kinship ties. Parizad and Shaila each married into a family with its own tradition of philanthropy. Prasad has a consanguineal link to a renowned family whose philanthropy and support for Gandhi is an important part of the Indian

Independence story. Delara descends not only directly from a prominent 19th-century

Parsi philanthropist but also through a step-relationship with another equally well known philanthropic dynasty originating from the same era.

Models derived through association

Broader communities of association were described by participants which led them to discover others involved in philanthropy who became their models. Arvind, for example, described moving to California and meeting “a wonderful person who ended up becoming my mentor for life.” This person’s influence on Arvind not only convinced him to take a break from private equity consulting to enrol at business school to

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develop his leadership skills but also “encouraged me to be very entrepreneurial … and I could see he was a philanthropist”.

In another example, Darsh described the model for the social enterprise he now had established was an Indian tech entrepreneur Gururaj Deshpande (See Srivastava

2014) who had made money in the US. Darsh arranged to meet with Deshpande who explained his model and his motives.

Models of moral probity were also described by participants. Ajit described his admiration for the leaders of philanthropic organisations whom he knows. Explaining that, as highly skilled people, they could be earning much more than they do, Ajit added:

“I find that these people are far more superior in their philanthropic initiatives than I am. Because they have sacrificed”. At another point in the interview he described how when meeting such people, he will often park his car out of sight and walk, or take an autorickshaw to their meeting, such is his discomfort about their relative material situations. Anup, in a similar fashion, expressed being immensely inspired by a friend,

“… he lives hand-to-mouth ... has a very tough life. 40% of his earnings go to charity.

Wonderful! So yeah, I’m just hoping I get more and more of that into my DNA”.

Summary

Communities of participation are the networks of which participants are members through which they are made actively aware and, as a result, respond to the needs of others. The networks described by participants differed from the comparable communities of participation in which US philanthropists are typically members. The culture of serving on boards of cultural institutions, in particular, was not replicated. In its place was evidence of participants serving on boards of prominent education

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nonprofits.87 Some commonality with the US phenomenon of participation in the school networks was evident in relation to one famous Indian school, the Doon School. There was, however, no indication from the participants that the alumni network itself activated or influenced their philanthropy.

More significant in activating and influencing the philanthropy of participants were networks and associations established specifically for this purpose. Those reported included the IPI, Dasra and Giving Friends, which have programs designed to bring nonprofit organisations and philanthropists together. The service organisation

Rotary was also acknowledged as an influence by participants.

Informal relationships between peers were described as sites of discussion and interaction related to philanthropy. In other cases, family ties inducted some participants into family philanthropic traditions. Finally, there were participants who indicated that their association with other philanthropists had provided models for their own philanthropy.

Frameworks of consciousness

Frameworks of consciousness say Schervish and Havens (1997: 241), “are the ways of thinking and feeling that are rooted deeply enough in one’s awareness to induce a commitment to a cause”. They link this conceptualisation with a study by Snow et al.

(1986) which explains how frameworks are comprised of values and beliefs

Following the logic of frameworks of consciousness (See section 5.3.2] the findings will be organised below using the following headings:

• Values and beliefs

87 Admittedly, this is arguable, as the sample size is too small to make a convincing generalisation.

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• Giving Back

• Good Fortune

• Trusteeship

• Religious and spiritual influences

Values and beliefs

Rohan (2000) conceptualises an aspect of values which she describes as “value priorities” (Rohan 2000: 262) as related to “best possible living” or the Aristotelian concept of eudaimonia (often translated as happiness). Beliefs are less well defined though generally connected to values as was discussed in Chapter Five (Section 5.3.2).

In their interviews, unsurprisingly, expressions of values and beliefs by participants could not be neatly disentangled.

A view that seems related to the Aristotelean notion of eudaimonia was articulated by Darsh, an entrepreneur whose grandfather had been a major industrialist. Darsh said:

People say, “In life, what’s your goal?” So, one is, it’s not just to be happy, it’s to be useful. And if I can be of use, and I can change people’s lives, then that’s the legacy that I want to leave behind, which is what I believe my grandfather left behind (Darsh).

Later he added

The reason I’m here is not just to build a big business group. The reason I’m here is because I’ve got resources with which I can change people’s lives (Darsh).

Lionel spoke of what he specifically described as “values”. These included such ideals as “what we have we share”, “harmony between nature and man”, “to collaborate with others” and, education and ensuring “the next generation will take care of itself”.

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Kundan spoke of “a beautiful saying which we are all brought up with,” which amplifies

Lionel’s “what we have, we share”. She said:

There are two important things that need to be shared. It (sic) is wealth and knowledge. You can’t keep it (sic) to yourself because it devalues knowledge and it devalues wealth. And that’s a beautiful thought if you think about it (Kundan).

If these abstract, high-level ideals are classified as values, then other participants, in contrast, expressed more practical, action-oriented beliefs. Sabith, for example, in basic and simple terms said, “You must always give.” He also expressed this in religious terms (See Section 7.4.4). Others also made statements implying the obligation to act in an ideal way:

It’s something that we got from our forefathers, that we have to work for the upliftment of the poor, change their lives, for the betterment of these women (Amit).

And I say, we must do whatever we can to try and give an equal opportunity in some shape or form, in two or three sectors that I believe are critical (Anup).

I think the realisation that society has to improve and whatever you can do to improve it, you must do (Arjun).

Whereas other statements of belief were less compelling, in context they were no less sincere. For example, Ajay said, “My quest really has been how to create an education system that makes you successful in life” and later “So that was sort of like my

... how should I say, my purpose in life, as I said, and what I want to give ... leave for the world”. Examples from other participants are:

I definitely feel the need to share (Ahan).

I’ve always believed even though I am now in philanthropy that ... business is a force for good, and money also is a powerful tool that can be used for good. (Arvind).

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I have believed that higher education is so important for the betterment of mankind—at one level. At another level we have given to address the basic needs of the poorest of the poor (Nanthan).

Giving back

The concept of giving back in relation to philanthropy is discussed by Odendahl

(1990), Prince and File (1994), Scaife et al. (2011), and Schervish (Schervish 2014b;

Schervish and Havens 1997; Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002). Giving back was discussed in Chapter Three (Section 3.3.3 ) as a Western rhetorical marker of serial reciprocity

(Moody 2008; Paton & Moody 2008). In English language discourse in India, giving back is often used to express concepts related to charity and philanthropy, or as a vernacular translation of dãn. Sundar (2017: 166) citing Reddy et al. (2012) suggests that “to pay back”, or “giving back to society” is the main force behind HNWI giving.

Darsh, reflecting on his grandfather and father, commented: “... each of us may have a different definition of philanthropy or giving back to society”. Anup said, for example “... charity and giving back have started to take a place of importance in the lives of many,” though, later clarified, “My family has been part of giving back for decades”. Arjun, talking generally about traditions in India said, “there was a large amount of give back in that sense to society,” and, “... we will always see a significant give back”. And Salman opined about:

How are we evolving as a society, as a nation? And after 68 to 70 years this upper crust, a few million people, have settled down. They’ve got their basics in order. Now they’re looking for these avenues where they can give back and contribute to the 300 hundred million who are not yet there.

The same language, however, was also used to describe participants’ own contribution. Ahan, who is creating a public art museum, explained that after years of building a valuable private art collection “the penny dropped ... it was time to give back”

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and later explaining, “... our generation grew up with some sort of an, erm … thing to give back”. Arvind, a wealthy and successful investment adviser who has endowed and manages a foundation contributing to the practice of teaching in India said, “So for me, philanthropy is a way to give back to society that’s given me a lot”. Kundan spoke of her having “...opportunity to give back to society.” Parizad, a member of an industrial dynasty known for its philanthropy explained, “And I think, when we use the word philanthropy, we are looking at it in very, very broad parameters of what do we give back from what we have gained”.

Good fortune

Giving with gratitude for good fortune (Scaife et al. 2011; Schervish 2000b, 2003) is considered by Schervish (2000b: 22 - 23) to be “the single most decisive aspect that forms … philanthropic conscience and consciousness.” As Ahan very appositely put it:

You give when you’re at a certain age and stage in your life. And when you feel that you are slightly blessed. When you feel that you have more than you need. When you feel that your giving can help somebody else. And when you want to acknowledge the good that somebody else has done to you (Ahan).

Similar sentiments were expressed by others. Parizad was talking of her personal philanthropy and the family as a whole when she said:

And we have a private responsibility as well. Because we are by the grace of God blessed with that, you know. And none of us have squandered our wealth (Parizad).

Nanthan, the ultra-high net worth (UHNWI) founder of a large corporation, said:

Luck has played a major role in whatever, whatever financial position I have. So, therefore, myself, my wife, my children, we all believe that whatever little we can do to make life better for some people is a good thing (Nanthan).

Privilege was a related theme that others recognised and responded to. “All of us are blessed with some privilege,” said Ashim. “It is figuring out what you could do with

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what you are blessed with … to, you know, change things for the better,” he added.

Delara, describing a childhood of wealth and prestige, said, “Yes, we have been privileged beyond any, erm … but we’re also aware that there is another side and we’re obliged to do something about it.” Likewise, reflecting a consciousness of privilege,

Anup explained:

We the elite have a voice. We have influence, we have, erm … access. We have access to people who influence policy, we have access to other rich people, we have access to large industrialists and business houses, and that’s a voice. And that’s what the poor people don’t have. So, we have to realise that unless we become the voice of the poor and the underserved, the underserved will never be heard (Anup).

In a similar way, Shaila described the benefits and responsibilities of privilege while explaining how she was ready to start a new social enterprise. She said she wanted to:

... leverage my position in society to make that happen. Because I feel that when you’re blessed, and you are lucky to, erm … to be in the midst of so much abundance, then … then we can (Shaila).

Religious and spiritual influences

Religious participation or religious community may sometimes be a potent force within frameworks of consciousness (Schervish 2000a). Kassam et al. (2016) and

Sundar (2013a) suggest many leading industrialists have, in the past been influenced by

Hindu religion and religious figures; Muniapan and Raj (2014) and Sundar (2013a) suggest that dharmic thought and traditions continue to influence contemporary corporate philanthropy. Majumdar (2015), discusses both dãn and zakat, and their role in CSR.

Schervish (1990) warns, however, that religion and religious rhetoric may be invoked rhetorically rather than actually being fundamentally motivating of the philanthropy of the wealthy. Furthermore, philanthropists can profess to be spiritually 166

motivated, without their spirituality necessarily having a religious basis (Lam et al.

2011; Schervish 1990).

Among participants, those who described themselves as religious were in the minority. Sabith, a Muslim, described his philanthropy in religious terms and made numerous references to God throughout the interview. He ascribed his philanthropy, nonetheless, to both “Indian values and our religion” later reiterating:

You see, the philosophy of the Indianness. You know, if you talk about the Indian virtues and values, you know, it is like that. You know. Irrespective of whatever the religion. Irrespective of whatever the religion. You know, the Indian philosophy is per se like this, you know. And as a Moslem, you know … Our teaching is also the same (Sabith).

Salman, the other Muslim in the sample made a similar statement: “I’m Muslim by birth but forget that … I am an Indian first”. This was said while explaining a history of Indian philanthropy in which he cited the three types of giving spoken of in the Hindu scripture, Bhagavad Gita to describe what he thought epitomised giving in India. He added, in a phrase echoing Gandhi and Carnegie (See Chapter Four, Section 4.8): “We are merely trustees of wealth”.

Only one other participant, Rahul, described himself as a believer in God.

Whereas, Ashim explained, “Yeah, I’m deeply religious but ... I’m very... I don’t follow one religion”. Both Ashim and Rahul indicated that their philanthropy was not directed by their religion. Rahul saying, “For me, my temples are the schools. My temple is that.

Rather than giving money for a religious purpose, I would put that money in teaching more children”. Ashim stated, “The one thing that we’ve [his wife and he] been very clear about is that … our giving be very, very areligious”.

One participant explained the influence the Christianity of his family and village had on him and his values, although he was silent on the degree of his current faith. Two 167

participants described themselves as not religious. Others provided explanations acknowledging and embracing influences of more than one religion. Suman, who belongs to the Jain community when probed about the influence of his religion on his philanthropy, said:

We remain isolated from that because we don’t do ... because for us, humanity is the religion ... So with our philosophy, we also believe humanity is the religion— the rest, all those things are the way of life you have to learn. We like Christianity or Jainism. We are ... by birth, I’m Jain. But Buddhism and all those things, they are all very good for the way of life, how you live it. But, erm … your religion should get driven with the humanity as one cause (Suman).

Ashim, who declared himself deeply religious also declared that though neither

Sikh, nor Buddhist, the two strongest influences on him were the Sikh, Guru Nanak and the Dalai Lama; and, that he could pray in a Church but spent more time in

Gurudwaras88 than any Hindu temple. Ajit, who like some other participants had attended a Christian school, declared that “Religion has not impacted … influenced my philanthropy”. His answer to a question about his religion was a statement of his and his wife’s belief in all faiths to which he added:

We are religiously minded but not of any particular religion. Except that we believe that there is … That there is a supernatural being which actually impacts our lives (Ashim).

Ajit described being moved at the funeral of his father by the fact there were readings from the Quran, the Bible and Hindu scriptures performed by a Mullah, a

Catholic Father and a Hindu priest, respectively. He had not known until that moment that his father was a trustee of a Muslim school.

88 Gurudwara is the name given by Sikhs for their places of worship and community meeting. It literally means “House of the Guru” See: We the Sikhs. All About Gurudwallas [Online]. Available: https://wethesikhs.org/?page_id=263 [Accessed 26 September 2019].

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Other participants described frameworks of thinking about the divine, which, as

Schervish (1990) comments, they identified as being spiritual rather than religious.

These participants used terms such as “higher energy”, “power” and

“interconnectedness” and indicated that this thinking was connected to an understanding of their purpose and consequent behaviour.

Three of the five Parsi participants commented on their religion. These comments are noteworthy given how prominently associated with philanthropy representatives of their tiny population are. 89 Anya, made the distinction between the customs and the religion of the Parsi, attributing Parsi philanthropy to the former.

Parizad, a Parsi who had admitted to no particularly strong religious adherence—she was one of the several non-Christian participants who had been educated in the Catholic education tradition—commented that to give back had “something to do with our

[Parsi] religion”; Delara, also Parsi and Catholic educated, referred to “[religion] is very much part of it, and you’ll have your good words, good thoughts, good deeds …”.90

Summary

Frameworks of consciousness are ways of thinking that induce commitment.

Values and beliefs play an important part in the frameworks of consciousness that lead to philanthropic behaviour.

Participants articulated values or beliefs related to sharing what they have, changing lives and the importance of education. The concept of giving back was used by several participants when describing their philanthropy. This was often combined with

89 Gandhi (2015: 26) wrote, “No one can equal the Parsis in generosity. No community has donated as much for philanthropic purposes as the Parsis have done”.

90 Humata, Hukhta, Huvarshta, which means Good Thoughts, Good Words, Good Deeds is one of the basic tenets of Zorastrianism (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zoroastrianism)

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acknowledgment of and obligations arising from the privilege and good fortune of the participants

Expressions of the direct influence of religion on philanthropy were muted in comparison to what is found in US literature. Those who describe themselves as religious were in a minority. Several described themselves as motivated by spiritual values rather than religion and indicated an influence and interest in a number of religions as well as their own particular affiliation.

Models and experiences from one’s youth

Activities, experiences and models from someone’s youth animate their philanthropy (Schervish 2000a, 2005a; Schervish and Havens 1997). These models are often parents (Lloyd 2004; Scaife et al. 2011) and also grandparents, teachers or youth leaders (Schervish and Havens 1997).

Dynastic philanthropy

For some participants, their introduction to philanthropy came through their families, whose philanthropy traced back through generations. They represent what

Prince and File (1994) call dynasts, who have been socialised into a world of philanthropy. “My family has been involved in charity for a long time. We’re on the board of 24 colleges here in Bombay. From the charitable aspect, we also have housing colonies that we’ve given at low rent” said Ajay. “My family has been part of giving back for decades... there’s [sic] now several foundations, some in the name of my grandfather, some in the name of other family members,” explained Anup. In one way or another,

Ahan, Amit, Darsh, Delara, Parizad, Prahbu, Prasad, Ragini and Salman could point back to organised giving and charitable organisations founded by their forebears.

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Some of these dynasts were able to tell stories of the generosity of these forebears. One spoke of a great-grandfather involved in setting up of the first Muslim university in India.91 Another participant talked of a great-grandfather who was a pioneer of women’s education, an advocate for widow remarriage and many other social and humanitarian causes. Three participants were directly related to and talked about philanthropic dynasties prominent in the literature of Indian philanthropy.

There are three cities named after Darsh’s family. His grandfather, a major industrialist, he explained, built what became “the fifth largest business group in India”.

As he explained it, both his grandfather and father “... ended up building not only industry but also social infrastructure which accompanied it”. Darsh saw this as a forerunner of CSR. His grandmother, he tells, used to run the group foundation responsible for the schools, the hospitals and the temples around their industrial plants.

What has impressed Darsh the most he says, is that this social infrastructure has lasted longer and better than the industries his family had been associated with. His family memories included observing his grandmother and mother “very much involved in not- for-profit work”.

Ajay remembered his grandfather: “He didn’t own more than three shirts and two pairs of trousers. He lived in a house probably just double the size of this [gesturing around a perhaps 25 m2 room]”. And he added:

And he was actually known for ... and so people actually respected him a lot because … not of what he earned, but more what he gave out. And that struck me … So, I realised even if you really want to do something in life, you actually are well-respected by how many people you helped, versus how much money you’re keeping to yourself (Ajay).

91 The Mohammedan Anglo-Oriental College was established in 1875. It is now named the Aligarh Muslim University (AMU).

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Lionel, though not from a dynastic background, described his grandmother as a model. He recounted how she set up a school to teach promising village children English so they could acquire a better education.92 Also, how on two days each year she would cook and distribute food to the homes of less privileged villagers. Lionel, who later became a global FMCG executive said he, “... was supply chain manager ... by the age of ten!”.

Parents as models

Parents, of course, in most cases offer the most direct and immediate models. For example, as Sabith recounted about whenever his father gave alms, he would make his children give something too, “Small amounts … Whatever we could.” Ashim described how he “... would see my mother and my father stretch to help people with … you know… with whatever we were capable of providing ... that seed was sown very early on in our lives. For all of us as siblings. I think that stuck with us”.

Pallavi described how her father funded an eye camp93 in her ancestral village and how, as children, they would assist by doing things like helping with the registration of patients and serving meals. Her mother, Pallavi recalls, used to make her and her siblings, on their birthdays, spend the day in a school for “differently-abled children … The idea was for us to go and understand how privileged we are and spend our birthday doing something for people who didn’t have what we had”.

92 English Medium Schools (schools where English is the language for instruction) are the route to both skilled employment and higher education. This person’s initiative was intended to enable children from non-English speaking backgrounds to enter this system.

93 Eye camps and other medical camps involve setting up temporary facilities and bringing medical teams into rural areas to perform operations, such as cataract removal, for a large number of people.

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Others like Delara, whose family was associated with multiple eponymous charities, Prabhu, whose father was involved with Rotary, or Rahul, whose father was a state Member of Parliament would be inducted to those particular aspects of their parent’s life by accompanying them to related events.

There were two participants who only learned of certain aspects of their parents’ philanthropy and moral compass after the event. Amit recounted how he met an individual while on a business visit to Lahore, Pakistan. This Pakistani Muslim businessman was insistent that Amit come to dinner at his home, where he met the entire family. It turned out the businessman had worked for Amit’s father and at the time of Partition had been not only gifted the part of Amit’s father’s business in Pakistan but also, had been mentored by him as he took it over. As a further example of his father’s moral standing, Amit also explained how on deciding to leave Amritsar at the height of the chaos and bloodshed following Partition, his father gifted land and homes to his employees so they could remain where they lived.94

Another story of a parent offering a model of moral compass, also related to reaching across community divides, was told by Arvind. During the vicious communal riots that followed the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi by members of her

Sikh bodyguard, his father smuggled, hidden in his car, one of his Sikh employees through the angry crowds.95

94 Wikipedia, citing Talbot, I. & Singh, G. 2009. The Partition of India, Cambridge, UK, Cambridge University Press. suggest that the partition displaced between 10-12 million people along communal lines, creating large-scale rioting with estimated deaths of between several hundred thousand and two million (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Partition_of_India).

95 When Indira Gandhi was assassinated by two of her Sikh bodyguards there were days of brutal anti- Sikh communal rioting resulting in many Sikh deaths.

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Other participants gave examples of parents behaving as models by serving, rather than giving to others. Ragini’s mother, a paediatrician, ran a free clinic each week.

Nanthan’s family adhered to a tradition (which he described as being part of village life for over a thousand years) of inviting one child from a poor family to dinner every night of the week: “Mother would make sure that the child has all the confidence … Is treated with the utmost care”. Sabith, similarly, told of his mother preparing food for “poor people used to come to the kitchen side … and a part would go to them”.

Others also recalled the positive values demonstrated by their parents. Arul’s parents “were not rich but they were positive for education”. Anya’s father “never believed in ostentatious living never. He lived in a very … In fact, more modest than what he could have really almost the other way around”. Rashmi’s parents were too poor to give “but they infused our lives with stories about what other people did as sacrifice”, she said. Parizad was sensitised to poverty at an early age partly because her own father had researched and written his MA thesis on beggars in Bombay. Parizad explained what she thought had been his reason for him tackling an, in her words,

“unglamorous” and (for his class and background) atypical theme, as related to the

Independence era during which it was written. She told of “This feeling of you’ve got to bring India up and, you know, how do you alleviate poverty?” Another participant,

Zahira, explained that her parents provided her an important moral direction because they “didn’t make money the most important thing in our lives”.

A variant on parents or grandparents as models was given by Arul. His eldest brother decided at the early age of sixteen that a minimum of 20% of his income would go to “the less fortunate”. Then another brother declared that he would give a hundred per cent of his life to charity work: “His personal expense he will take from friends or

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family. But he will not use a penny from his income”. All the brothers are joint owners of a business and have established a trust for their philanthropic work which is supported by the entire family.

School experiences

School experiences are another factor in philanthropists’ identity. At Doon, Amit remembers being engaged in a program teaching the school gardeners and cleaners to read and write. He suggested that maybe the initial seed of his philanthropy was sown there. Lionel describes how childhood memories of summer camps working in villages influenced his determination to do something for such communities.

Darsh and Parizad described their years at school in terms of their awakening to social disparity. Darsh went to a boarding school “which was really not for rich kids” he explained:

It was me and all these other kids from all over. Someone was a policeman’s kid, someone was a lawyer’s kid, and all of that. They were like, “Dude, you have to do your own thing here. No one’s going to do it for you”. So, it was quite an experience, and I think that really defined my view of the world. I suddenly saw that I was on my own and I had to do everything. The stories that I heard from my friends as to what their parents do and how they live their lives. How they go to work every day and what they do, was very different from the life I come from.

For Parizad, her Roman Catholic university college experience completely changed her outlook:

When I saw girls, who were as bright … brighter than me, let’s put it that way, working so hard trying to clear those exams, living in conditions … Unbelievable. Our domestic staff lived better than some of the girls who came to college.

And I came home, and I remember weeping with my mother. I said, really … we were born with a … gold … I thought, in those days, born with a golden spoon in our mouths. Whatever we wanted, our parents achieved and got for us. But then, when I said, this is not on, you know … and I completely changed my outlook. Completely changed my outlook on everything.

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Ragini and Anya both attended another Roman Catholic university college in

Mumbai and were both drawn into social service volunteer programs, which did work in slums and with the blind. Rashmi laughingly described her thinking being shaped by her university college in a different way by “a lot of flaming left radical student leaders!”

Travel experience when young

As well as formal education, the experience of travel while young seems to have had an influence on many participants either as children or as young adults. Two participants described spending a significant part of their childhood abroad. Ashim, who above described his experience in the US also spent his early childhood in London.

Zahira spent three childhood years in Washington. Pallavi was used to travelling frequently with her parents as a child and told how when with her parents in London en route to the US, she decided spontaneously to enrol in a summer school at the London

School of Economics where she remained to complete a post-graduate degree. Lionel

“travelled to about thirteen countries at the age of 19, just backpacking. And it was a bit of a contrast for me. I realised that, you know, how India was managing its water and how European nations were managing their water”.

Parizad and Anya both travelled, rather than lived, abroad in late youth. Parizad said that when she was allowed to go abroad at about 22 years old this was late by the

Indian standards of her day. Anya said she was eighteen when her father allowed her to go abroad on an exchange program. In each case this would have been in the 1970s.

Spending time abroad, Parizad said, “taught me the dignity of labour ... which one just took so much for granted … because here [in India], we’re waited on.” Parizad, who studied art and art history also explained “When one started going abroad, one started

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seeing this huge amount of giving back. You know, like the Getty and … You know, er, even in the Art Institute of Chicago”.

For some living in the US was a particular influence. Anup indicated that exposure to the way Americans routinely gave a portion of their income to charity was influential on him. In his own case, he was introduced to formal giving because his employer compulsorily deducted contributions for the United Way. Ashim was impressed how in the US “institutions of excellence”—universities, hospitals, libraries—

“essentially exists because of the largesse of a small handful of families”. Arvind was influenced and impressed by US philanthropy, in part, through sharing a dorm with a scion of one of America’s most famous philanthropic families.

Ragini and Shaila both lived in the US with their husbands, whose careers took them there shortly after marriage. Each explained how they used their time abroad to enjoy self-directed study—reading, taking courses and attend public discussions.

Ragini explained using her leisure time:

I’d attend as many things I could, and many leaders from around the world would come and talk. And it was all free … we didn’t have money, but all of this was free. So, lots of shift … my thinking again of what public infrastructure services are needed, to deepen a public discourse, to engage people in the right questions (Ragini).

While for Shaila it was “all sorts of art courses … Fine arts, sculpture, piano, painting”. And, “… when I came back, that was when I realised how much, how attracted to the arts I was. Like it was, it just … I got it, I connected with it”.

Summary

Models and experiences from youth that affect philanthropy include examples set by adults such as parents, grandparents, and teachers. In the case of participants,

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this category has been extended to their school experiences and experiences of living or travelling abroad while young.

Some participants came from dynastic backgrounds where philanthropy had been practised for generations. In these cases, there were existing formal philanthropic structures within which they served as family members. Some were able to recount stories of particular forebears which had an influence on their own thinking. Others told stories of caring for others and other moral examples set by one or both of their parents. Two variants on dynastic or parental modelling were of the influence of a sibling and of cousins.

School experiences in general, rather than specific personalities, were described by some participants. In particular, these related to a growing awareness of privilege and difference from others encountered in the school environment.

The opportunity to have lived or travelled abroad while young also was described as having been influential. In particular, accounts of travel or education in the

United States were provided as specific examples of influence on the development of participants’ thinking and attitude to their philanthropy.

Existence of discretionary resources

Discretionary resources refer to time and money. Defining the amount of each available is, of course, a mixture of objective and subjective considerations (Schervish and Havens 1997). Participants, however, gave their descriptions of both in terms such as the realisation of having more than enough: “When you feel that you have more than you need” said Ahan, for example. Or, as explained by two other participants in similar terms:

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At the end of the day we all have our homes—we have multiple homes—and we can sleep only in one bed at a time. You can ride only one car at a time. You can eat only one meal at a time (Prasad).

At the end of the day, you are going to … With some modification … Live where you’re going to live, eat what you do. Your expenses are going to be by and large what they are. Anything additional to that, it’s all extra (Ajit).

Arvind explained deciding about how much wealth to commit to philanthropy yet ensuring that his family would still have enough to enjoy their current level of comfort—acknowledging that in his previous career as an investor he was used to such

“calibrating … to make sure I don’t do anything that I would end up regretting at some point in time”. Another participant, Ashim, said, “I think for me the biggest thing was I asked myself the question what is … enough?” then added “I had the opportunity to ask myself that question in a very … fairly rigorous manner.” For Arul, the calibration was less rigorous: “My brother always says that God has given us, say, 50 times than what we need or 100 times or some 1000 times. Different people ... and there are millions who don’t have enough”.

For some, the realisation they had substantial discretionary resources was marked by the specific moment or transaction that Schervish and Herman (1988) describe as liminal (See Chapter Five, 5.4.2). Venya described the moment in terms of

Initial Public Offering (IPO) of the business of which she and her husband were part owners. For Rashmi, it was when the firm in which she and her husband were shareholders was floated on the US market, as a result of which she put all her substantial new wealth into her foundation. Kundan described how she became a very wealthy woman overnight when her business went public, adding that “the wealth was not about monetary wealth to me. It was about value creation ...” and that was about “... reinvesting in your environment, in your community, in your society—to improve it”. 179

These stories are consistent with Chanana (2011), who suggests in India that a philanthropic foundation is established when a business is sold, an IPO succeeds, or the business has cash flow sufficient to provide for charitable activity.

Arjun, the CEO and Chairman of the business he founded, explained how for him and other businesspeople the availability of discretionary wealth for philanthropy came as a part of the economic consequences of the 1991 deregulation of the Indian economy:

We are now wealthy. Our group is now doing actually $1 billion, $2 billion, $3 billion in revenue. Numbers which were stratospheric pre-’91. So, a few years it took for people to understand this is real. And that’s when you started seeing philanthropy really kick in again (Arjun).

1991 had been a watershed year in India’s economic and philanthropic history.

In 1991 India applied for assistance from the International Monetary Fund and in return had to open up to investment and remove barriers to trade. The subsequent liberalisation of the economy combined with globalisation to shape a new era of philanthropy (Bornstein 2009, 2011, Kassam et al 2016, Ramachandran & Jha 2009, Sen

1999, Sundar 2017).

Another form which the discussion of discretionary wealth by participants took was in terms of the proportion of their wealth they gave. Ahan explained 8 - 10% of family business profits going to the family trusts to be used for “health of the underprivileged or education or religious things”. Lionel described how 65% of the profits of the social enterprise he has created is ploughed back into its non-revenue activities. Suman admitted to a modest two percent of corporate revenues (which is now in line with the Government of India (2013a) requirement on all companies to commit 2% of net profits to CSR) but added that if the contributions made personally by his brother and him, as the owners of the business, were added this would come to more than ten per cent. Arul claimed that he and his brothers who run a joint family 180

business have followed one brother’s suggestion that 20% of his income would always go to charity, then added: “... we started giving more”.

Participants who referred specifically to personal income included Ajit, who said he gave 50% of his investment income; Anya, who said the family gave 30% of their personal wealth; and Parizad, who in addition to being a member of a dynastic family well known for philanthropy, explained she used her personal income from dividends, and her own professional fees as an academic and a writer for personal philanthropy.

The other valuable discretionary resource that philanthropists have to offer is time and, with their time, their expertise; or as Ragini described, “I also think it’s hugely important to have philanthropy combined with giving up your own time, your own energy, your own skills and competence”. Ajit, as well, explained that having retired he discovered he had a lot of time. Moreover, he made the further discovery that time was his biggest asset and the asset most needed in the social sector:

What is lacking in this sector? It’s time. Money … and I talk from a banking perspective. It’s a commodity. People can give money. Are you prepared to devote time? ... Someone who is doing strategic giving—and by that definition, I am saying that he is not only giving money but that he is ensuring that money is put to use in a manner that he is able to supervise, and he is able to manage, and he is able to make a difference. In my mind, that’s far … I rate him far higher than someone who is just writing a cheque and giving it (Ajit).

A similar notion was expressed by Darsh, for whom, as the CEO of a corporation, time was not in great supply. He said: “When you give someone time, you’re giving them your thought processes, you’re giving them your experience, you’re sharing with them things which they can benefit from … more than just your money.” It is interesting that, in both cases, they suggest that there is an intellectual gift inherent in their time.

Some, who worked in business, indicated how they apportioned their time.

Ashim said, “70-30 is kind of the balance which I’ve struck where a good part of the 30 181

comes out ... over the weekends and … after office hours”. Prahbu estimated that he spends around 45 minutes each day—”five days a week, six days a week.” In addition, he enumerated the meetings he attends—three times a week at the school and two to three times a month the outpatient clinic that his family trust runs.

Among participants were those who were in a position to devote most of their time to philanthropy. In the case of Arvind, who has founded and runs a nonprofit organisation, his contribution of time arises, he said, because “I don’t have any real connect with the business world, and I just focus on my philanthropic work full time”.

Anya explained she has retired from chairing her family business and “fully dived into” an involvement with social work. By “social work” she was referring to her role as chair or board member of several organisations (see Table 7.1). Arul was another, who explained that he had reached a stage in his business life where he could give more time—90% of his time—and was, therefore, able to spend ten to twelve days of each month in the remote region where much of the work of his foundation is undertaken.

For two other participants, their liminal or transformative moment led them to fulltime roles with philanthropic organisations. In Anup’s case this came about when, after his father died and winding-up the business his father had managed, he agreed to head up the Indian branch of an international children’s charity. The other was Shaila, who after marrying into a wealthy family, volunteered to work with and was eventually appointed CEO of a cultural organisation.

Summary

Discretionary resources are the time and money that philanthropists have available. All participants acknowledged that they had wealth to deploy, and some that they had time; and many that both time and wealth were invested in philanthropy.

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Some were born into or married into wealth. Others had accumulated wealth through their own entrepreneurship or professional career. In some cases, participants articulated a question around how much of their wealth was necessary to the comfort of themselves and their families and indicated how this had influenced their investment in philanthropy. Among the participants were several who described their ability to invest significant time together with their wealth as their contribution towards philanthropy.

In certain instances, participants had reached a decision to make their philanthropy their primary occupation. As well as those who were able to indicate the amount of time they spent on philanthropy, several also provided indications of the proportion of wealth or income contributed.

Invitations to participate

Being asked directly by someone within the individual’s community of participation is a major mobiliser of philanthropy (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Scaife et al.

2011; Schervish and Havens 1997). Of the five significant mobilising factors described by Schervish (Schervish 2000a, 2008; Schervish and Havens 1997; Schervish and

Havens 2001b), the mobilizing factor invitations to participate is, however, the one for which there is the least evidence in the narratives of participants.

Mentions of being directly asked to give were rare. Ajit described how the

Catholic Fathers at his old school might ask him, when he returned to his hometown,

“Ajit, you know we have so many needy people. So, I might write out a cheque”. Ahan described how someone from his batch at school proposed a class gift from among his peers. Parizad good humouredly explained her indignation at being lobbied by fellow

Parsis:

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I get letters sometimes, from within the community—do this, do that. Who the hell do you think you are? Telling me what to do? [laughs] (Parizad).

Suman described how an introduction to one organisation that his philanthropy supports came from a member of his staff; another introduction from a mutual friend.

Otherwise, he described a more formal, organised approach of the foundation receiving proposals, screening them, visiting and inspecting activities in the ground, shortlisting and “then we sanction the budget”. He also explained that staff were involved in this process. Much more prevalent were examples in interviews were stories such as this where the interviewees explained actively seeking out and researching causes and projects for their philanthropy.

Summary

There was scant indication from participants that being asked directly was a mobiliser of their philanthropy. Far more prevalent were descriptions of the interviewees, as hyperagents and producers of philanthropy, proactively seeking and creating their own outlets for their own philanthropic activity; this is discussed further in Chapter Eight (Section 8.4.3).

Chapter summary and conclusions

This chapter analyses the narratives provided by participants using Schervish’s identification model as a theoretical framework. The intention of the chapter was to examine how the stories told by participants conformed with the variables of this model. These variables are the five significant mobilising factors related to philanthropic behaviour of the wealthy.

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Communities of participation are the networks through which the wealthy are made actively aware and, as a result, respond to the needs of others. Participants described belonging to certain very specific philanthropic networks and to informal family and peer associations, all of which were sites for interaction and decisions related to their philanthropic activity.

Participants indicated frameworks of consciousness, particularly values and beliefs lead to their philanthropic behaviour; in particular, their belief in giving back and having obligations arising from their privilege and good fortune. The specifically Indian influence of Gandhi and his notion of trusteeship was articulated by several participants. Also, the dharmic religious concepts dãn and karma were described by participants as part of the normative background within which they operated. Religion, however, did not emerge as a significant mobiliser of their philanthropy.

Models and experiences from youth were expressed by some through stories about forebears as well as about parents and grandparents and other family relations.

Some participants came from families where philanthropy had been long established.

School and tertiary education experience, particularly as an initial site of their awareness of privilege and difference from others were explained by participants as initial motivations towards their philanthropy. Living or travelling abroad was also seen by a number as having been influential in the development of their philanthropic thinking. Significant discretionary resources of either wealth, time or both were articulated in some manner by all participants.

Invitations to participate were not described by participants as being in any way significant mobilisers of their philanthropic activities. This is probably the result of the hyperagency (See Section 8.4.3) of participants and the fact that for some, their

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philanthropy relates to their own operating (rather than grant distributing) foundations. The findings from this research related to invitations to participate and communities of participation deserve further investigation as they have particular implications for fundraisers wishing to seek support for projects.

The findings of this chapter are that the participants’ narratives fitted with the identification model, which is one of two parts of the moral citizenship theoretical framework used as the basis for this research. The next chapter will discuss findings related to the second part of this framework, moral biography.

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MORAL BIOGRAPHIES

Introduction

This chapter will describe the moral biographies of participants, the second of the two components which form the theoretical framework for this research. A moral biography, according to Schervish, is a bridge between “where we are and where we want to go” and “a series of acts of agency” (Schervish and Whitaker 2010: 5). It is constituted from two separate elements, which are described as personal capacity (see section 5.4.1) and moral compass (See Section5.4.2). It will be evident after the previous chapter, that factors such as existence of discretionary resources contained within the identification model are closely related to those which go towards providing personal capacity; while frameworks of consciousness and models and experiences from youth are clearly influential in directing an individual’s moral compass.

Moral compass

Moral compass is, of course, a metaphor which relates to direction and, in the context of moral biography refers to the direction in which a person’s life, or a part of their life, took. Schervisch (2006, 2014b; Schervish and Whitaker 2010) uses examples such as Moses from the Bible and Luke Skywalker from Star Wars as examples of individuals following a moral compass (see Section 5.4.2).

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Figure 8.1 The moral biography concept (Extract from Figure 5.1 The moral citizenship of care)

MORAL BIOGRAPHY

PERSONAL NORMATIVE BEARING CAPACITY MORAL COMPASS ; PURPOSE

spatial, temporal, psychological, and spiritual empowerment

Table 8.1 below demarcates narratives shared by participants using the dialectic of fortune and virtue for identifying thematic patterns in the participants’ stories. The table shows examples of a tripartite structure which is the most common structure in participants’ stories. The three components identified by Schervish as comprising this structure are initial condition, liminality and denouement (or story-ending).96

96 There is some similarity in this construction with that of Maclean et al. (2015) who describe another tripartite journey of Setting Out, Wayfinding and Homecoming.

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Table 8.1: Tripartite story structure of participant narratives

Initial Condition Liminality Denouement This, he explains, initially He says, “When you get caused consternation but involved in something and slowly he discovered he you feel for it because you was able to spend more of Ahan describes how on have a passion for it, then his time on other interests taking a vacation from the the giving is of a better including collecting art. He family business he came to quality”. He is continuing describes how his passion the realisation that his with his support for the for art led him to consider managers could manage arts, and, is building a the dilemma involved in the business without him. public art museum spending time and money through which he will supporting the arts versus make his collection contributions to India’s available to all. other pressing needs. Moving on from that, Ajay describes his quest to He describes his initial Ajay describes himself as a create business failure to set up a business member of a family well management programs in after graduating with his known in his community India using a social MBA from “one of the top for the contributions it had enterprise model. At the business schools of the made from the time of his same time, his passion for world … [where] they grandfather to founding education has involved couldn’t teach me anything colleges in Mumbai. him in completing a Doctor useful for real life!” of Education at a British university. As he was flying first class from Mumbai to Chicago and back (“I flew 30 hours for five-hour presentation!”) It suddenly Ajit describes his well- struck him that “Life has to remunerated career as a have a different meaning”. He now gives most of his mergers and acquisitions This led to exploration of time and 50% of his adviser with an iconic how he could use his skills income to social projects. investment bank. as a business analyst in the social sector, which involved consulting with philanthropists and other connections he had made during his business career.

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He builds that organisation into one with multiple He describes his father’s programs in nine states death as the “cusp” of his involving 20,000 kids and When his father was life. Shortly before his 500 schools. Additionally, diagnosed with cancer, father died, he received a he serves as a trustee on Anup left his executive role call from a friend on behalf family trusts that also in the US with a of an overseas children’s support education and run multinational to take care charity looking for schools, while privately he of the family’s business. someone to spearhead a and his wife have resolved new program in India. to support five disadvantaged girls through their education. When her husband unexpectedly died, she was appointed as chair. Not long after, the share price plummeted during a After her son’s death that downturn in the Indian she began looking for an economy. “We had to ask NGO to support and was Anya explains how despite large numbers to leave, introduced to a young having set her heart on close down businesses, woman who was founding and trained for a career in which was one of the most a children’s charity. Anya social work she was painful things in my life,” supported her and became persuaded by her husband, Anya says. a board member and then who was CEO, to take an later followed her and executive role in the 14 months later her son supported became chair of business her father died in a car accident. another education charity. founded. Recalling her son, Anya Now she spends most of says “Poverty in India her time on board roles bothered him terribly and with NGOs. he kept saying … Why don’t we give a substantial percentage of what we earn to charity?” Arvind describes how he He moved out of the had the good fortune of a business world and into scholarship to an Ivy full time philanthropy, League university which He always intended, he using his wealth to found was followed with an MBA explains, to move on and an education think tank at another top US school. do something else and and grantmaker and as After gaining experience in aged 40 he decides the well became one of the investment management time has come. founders, principal in the US he returned to fundraiser and a donor to a co-found a successful new liberal arts university private equity company in in India. India.

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He realises that he is not finding satisfaction wealth creation and its material Ashim now says he spends rewards, explaining, “And around a third of his time so for me, it was much engaged with projects in more important to define the social sector – he is the Ashim talked about how he how I would use my time chair or a board member had the fortune to reach as opposed to use my of several high profile the top of his field at an wealth”. This led to him nonprofit organisations. early age. seeking meetings with “But I’d like to over time some of the leading figures spread that more evenly,” in the Indian social he says, “because I do sector—”... four or five enjoy both spheres”. who have really kind of moved the needle for me in terms of my thinking”. Kundan describes how, She explains that an frustrated by the lack of invalid friend became a opportunities for her in great influence on her Affordable access to her graduate field, she outlook. She describes the treatments and support for took a plunge and set up friend as “a woman who ... medical research are now her own company. The by any standards, she was intertwined in both company is now a earning very well”. And yet business and philanthropy substantial international her friend tells her how for Kundan. pharmaceutical she struggled to pay for manufacturer. her treatments. He founds a social Lionel says that growing enterprise, one part of up in a rural village he He sets himself two goals. which supplies and wanted to do something Firstly, before turning 50 manages water related to water. This he would do something commercially, while ambition remained with about this ambition. another part runs as a not- him even as he became an Secondly, he would save at for-profit to ensure the international executive least $1 million to make availability of safe clean with a multinational FMCG this possible. water in impoverished group. regions. During a discussion with She sets up her own her father’s medical nonprofit educating specialist, after he was Pallavi explains that she children about tobacco, diagnosed with cancer, she grew up as the daughter of which has grown from two learns that one in three a wealthy industrialist. people to 83 full time staff users of tobacco starts working with the children before they are ten years of itinerant labourers. old.

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Rashmi describes how when the business of which her husband had been one of the founders She donates her entire Rs Now she has the capacity and of which they were 100 crore97 windfall to the and the experience to both shareholders was personal foundation she practice philanthropy on a listed on the American had started some years large scale. stock market she suddenly before. had, “What at that time seemed like a lot of money…” From that beginning, he develops a chain of nonprofit schools, One day he learns that the Sabith tells how after including a higher village school at which his many ups and downs he education institute father had been builds a successful offering free technical headmaster is threatened property development education to with closure. He steps in to business. disadvantaged students. save it. “Today”, he says, “We have 15 institutions. We have more than 4500 students”. When her husband’s work took them to the US for a She finds an outlet for her year, she uses her time to free time and an avenue take university courses Shaila explains how by for her love of the arts as and pursue interests in the marriage she starts a new well as the business arts. life in a very wealthy and degree she holds, through She then returns to India well known family. volunteering for then to a household where all eventually being asked to domestic and child- be CEO a nonprofit. minding requirements are taken care of. The family background of Suman and his brother, Suman estimates he especially the model set by spends 2 to 3 days a month cousins who are Eventually, they were on philanthropic activities philanthropic, disposes ready to begin financially but as he becomes less them toward philanthropy. supporting the first of hands-on in their business, They found an asset what has now become he hopes that he will reach management and wealth several NGOs focused on a time when he can devote advisory business. The “upliftment of society”. his full time to growth of India’s economy philanthropic activities. since the early 90s, and, especially, the wealth of

97 Rs 100 crore = USD $ 13,946,011.80 using live mid-market rates. (https://www.xe.com/currencyconverter/convert/ Accessed 12 October 2019).

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those at its pinnacle brings the brothers financial success.

The firm went through an The result is that she now Venya is Chief Finance IPO and she proposes to runs one of India’s highest Officer (CFO) of an the new board that she profile charitable investment company that structure and run the foundations which her husband co-founded, firm’s philanthropy full provides funding to NGOs and the role included time, which led her to and advises them to making allocations to spend time researching the develop their capacity and charities. charitable sector. achieve sustainability. Soon after, they set up their own foundation with what she describes as the same “disruptive” philosophy and “grit and Zahira and her husband The business is sold to US determination” with which build a very successful competitor. they had previously built entertainment business. their business. Zahira is now the full time executive chair of the foundation which has around 300 staff.

Not every participant offered a biographical narrative that so clearly fitted this tripartite structure. Further summaries are offered below. In each case, however, there is a dialectic of fortune and virtue wherein the participants acknowledge their empowerment and describe how they have applied this towards some virtuous outcome.

Amit

In this example of the dialectic of fortune and virtue, Amit describes his good fortune attending Doon, a school founded for the Indian elite (Srivastava 1998). Amit describes it as one of the main influences on his life: “We were always encouraged to go and climb hills. And we were told that these are physical hills but, in your life, there are

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many, many hills to climb”. Amit has had a successful career in business after graduating from a prestigious Indian university and became co-founder and managing director of a successful software company. He is also chair of an elite golf club. Among various descriptions he gave of his role as chair of his family foundation a story that stands out is about how, once he had the authority to do so, he abolished a daily religious ceremony at one of the schools the foundation managed. He also insisted that the pictures of Indian gods which hung around the school be replaced with portraits of great scientists, saying “...these are people that you’re reading about … so, this should matter more to you in school”.

Arjun

Arjun built his own fortune as an entrepreneur, running his own successful engineering and manufacturing business. He starts his explanation of his own philanthropy by telling the story about how his father put his money into building a temple and school dedicated to a Hindu spiritual site.98 Having the good fortune of building his own successful business, Arjun is now able to fund and further develop his father’s endowment by expanding the school, running an outreach program to surrounding village communities to promote the need to educate girls, and by establishing a medical outreach program and outpatient clinic for the surrounding community.

Additionally, Arjun’s corporation now runs its own CSR program focused, he says, on “skilling and community development in the areas we work in”. Furthermore,

98 This same story is related by Bornstein (2012), as Case Study Three, pages 48 - 51).

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he and two other prominent business owners regularly meet to discuss CSR and philanthropy. Arjun expresses his vision as:

I think the ... what I’d like to do is to have … touch as many people in a positive way, as I can find it possible. Okay? That’s for sure. Now how successful will I be, will it be a million people, would it be 50,000 people, I don’t know. Okay. As I said, I personally am not focusing personally on philanthropy yet myself. But it’s something that my father does with a lot of diligence. So, if … he has touched a lot of people … I may have enabled it …

The assertion by Arjun that he is not personally focused on philanthropy might appear paradoxical given the thoughtful and active role in both his family and business philanthropy he described during interview. It is almost certainly a reflection of the fact that the principal focus of his time and energy continues to be leading and expanding his multi-national business which is well documented in international business press stories.

Arul

Arul and his six brothers99 own and operate an international diamond merchant business. Arul’s story of virtue starts with that of his eldest brother who as a young man left the village where their family were struggling to survive, for a job in Bombay:

And the first income of say, Rs. 100, two dollars, he decided that minimum 20% of his earning throughout the life, minimum 20% will go to the less fortunate. That was the beginning. That was beginning at the age of 16, he did this. And then he gave this thinking to the whole family (Arul).

The brothers established a charitable trust funded by their business. They allow one brother to give all his time to social work in remote villages. Arul similarly spends

99 Arul was insistent that the researcher make it clear that the philanthropy that he described during the interview was in fact only possible because of the involvement and commitment of all of his siblings.

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80% of his time, nowadays, looking after philanthropic programs for extremely disadvantaged tribal people.

Darsh

Darsh’s story of his fortune was being the grandson of the founder of one of

India’s largest business groups, yet being brought up by his parents not to rely on being among the elite. His father insisted Darsh do as both he and his grandfather had and build his own business. Expanding this company nationwide, and also when he served as national president of peak Indian business association Darsh grew aware in some detail of national social issues and policies. He tells how he became convinced that many challenges could be solved by business and individuals if, firstly, they took responsibility and, secondly, they were better focused and coordinated. According to him:

The reason I’m here is not just to build a big business group. The reason I’m here is because I’ve got resources with which I can change people’s lives. If I can do that, what am I doing about it? How am I going about it? The reason I’m here in this situation, with the way our community today is in our country there’s a lot that needs to be done. So, what can I do to contribute towards that? That’s how I think.

Delara

Delara was immersed in a storied family tradition of charity from childhood. Her parents were both involved as trustees of family and community trusts and in her own turn, she became executive officer of a large philanthropic trust as well as a trustee of others. She describes her involvement in philanthropy as if by default. “Yes, we have been privileged beyond any, erm … but we’re also aware that there is another side and we’re obliged to do something about it...”

She also describes herself as “pretty hard-nosed” and describes in some detail various challenging scenarios she has seen through her work in philanthropy. She also 196

spoke, especially, of her admiration for those with little means who give or volunteer and of trust officials and professionals from whom she has learned.

Nanthan

Nanthan is an entrepreneur who established a global business and as a result— although he was uncomfortable admitting it—is by any standards, an extremely wealthy man. As the company grew, he explained he was comfortable sharing the equity with his junior co-founders—”people with just one year’s experience ... Because wealth did not matter that much. I enjoyed being in the company of good people, enjoyed doing things together, all of that”. By 1998 - 1999 he said the business founders were giving in millions of dollars. Although he described himself as not comfortable talking about his personal philanthropy, he spelled out a list of universities both in India and the US to which his wife and he had given, “Because I have believed that higher education is so important for the betterment of mankind”. In addition, he added, his wife and he gives

“… to address the basic needs of the poorest of the poor”.

Parizad

One aspect of the dialectic of fortune and virtue described by Parizad is that she married into one of India’s wealthiest families, yet she has maintained her own career as an academic and writer. As a family member, she takes part in decisions on the family’s philanthropy which is extensive and well known. In the interview she described how she has advocated for improvements in how this is administered. In addition to this, she alone determines the direction of the giving she does out of her own income from dividends and her professional fees and how her decisions are guided. “I want to see the genuine need, “she says, “I do go into the details”. Asked what influences her toward making donations, she answered:

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It’s not our job to do it, but if you don’t do it who will do it? They’ll die. They … they will be a burden to their society, wherever they live. They will be shunned. They will not … They don’t even have. They’re below poverty line. How are you going to get them even to the base?100

Prabhu

Prabhu balances the time needed to be a hands-on chair of his family trust which manages a primary school and a medical clinic and his role as a senior executive in the technical sector. It is clear from the stories he tells of his involvement in these two projects that as well as devoting several hours each week, he brings to them his skills as an INSEAD educated manager.101 He describes a deliberate focus on managing the infrastructure of both facilities to provide a range of services and benefits to the poor.

He allows himself pride in the range of activities that the schoolchildren are exposed to and that, in his opinion, the program for the Annual Day at the trust’s free school is superior to that of his own son’s fee paying school. He added to that story an account of how he preferred to have personal dental treatment at the trust’s clinic over a private dentist, as an illustration of the quality of the services provided by that facility.

Prasad

Prasad is the third generation chair of a family manufacturing business which is the biggest employer in one of the poorest parts of India. The success of the business in creating employment contributes to disparity between their employees and the surrounding impoverished rural communities. It is part of company history that these

100 This statement by Parizad followed discussion about her support for a program aimed at solving malnutrition in pregnancy though in the fuller context of her narrative “they” may reasonably be inferred to be the poor in India generally.

101Prahbu attended the INSEAD Fontainebleau campus. INSEAD has campuses in France (Fontainebleau), Asia (Singapore), and the Middle East (Abu Dhabi). The name "“INSEAD”, which is always used, is an acronym of Institut Européen d’Administration des Affaires. Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/INSEAD. Accessed 24 November 2019

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concerns came to head in a tragic manner when, in 1970, a union official was shot and killed by angry villagers outside the company gates. Soon after the incident, the family founded a trust and an organisation for the social and economic development of surrounding villages. Prasad, now its chair, has appointed professional management with the result that it “has become much sharper and the program is accelerating quite rapidly at this stage”. So much so, that the next project that he is leading the trust with is building a new university for the region. This, he describes, is “our commitment to make a difference. Because, through education, you surely have a much higher chance of success of transforming destinies”.

Rahul

Rahul explained how his two brothers and he run a company which expanded rapidly throughout India in the late 80s and 90s. As he recalls, “Post ’91, as we started working, suddenly you saw that you are now creating wealth and sustainable wealth.

The moment you are in that zone, you can start thinking of society”.102

The brothers formalised their giving by forming a foundation in 2000, of which

Rahul is chair. At first their philanthropy supported university scholarships and then higher educational institutions. In 2006 the Indian Prime Minister made a public call for private sector support of schools and shortly after their foundation responded with a commitment of INR 2,000,000,000103 to be spent on primary schools in rural India.

More recently, following another Prime Ministerial call, the foundation has committed

USD $17-$18 million towards building a toilet for every home in 900 villages.

102 See Footnote to Section 2.5 for explanation of the phrase “Post ’91”.

103 Rs 2 billion = USD $28,179,529 using live mid-market rates (https://www.xe.com/currencyconverter/convert/ Accessed 12 October 2019).

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Throughout the interview, the phrases “my children”, “my teachers”, “my schools” roll off Rahul’s tongue. He talks with pride about their achievement and how he sees them as agents of social change, how they educate their parents, and through their education in fundamental matters such as cleanliness and sanitation help change their village environments. The toilet building program was rolled out using the children as advocates to convince their parents about the value of sanitation. Conversely, mothers are recruited to cook schoolchildren’s midday meals, providing them a small income and ensuring commitment to quality.

Explaining what gave him happiness, Rahul talked of making children good human beings, changing their lives and ensuring their smiles.

Personal capacity

Personal capacity includes the financial, temporal, spatial, psychological and spiritual assets drawn upon by individuals as philanthropic agents. In Schervish et al.

(1994: 2) these are described as the “distinctive attributes of freedom that accompany wealth”. These capacities enable philanthropists to be hyperagents and producers of philanthropy (See 8.4.3).

Chapter Seven established that participants held discretionary resources of time and money (See Section 7.6), the financial and temporal assets described as elements of personal capacity. Chapter Seven, under the rubric of frameworks of consciousness, also analysed the explanations given of religious and spiritual resources (See Section 7.4.4).

Evidence of the existence of spatial assets or their spatial empowerment was given in the narratives of participants by stories of personal and business travel.

Examples of these stories include Ajit, whose narrative of spatial empowerment described how after his decision to quit banking on a flight between New York and 200

Mumbai added that he “booked a palace in the Lake District, in the UK” for his family while he considered his future. Months later, as he researched and planned a new life in philanthropy, he and his wife found themselves travelling through rural India and, “we went to villages, and we slept on the floor”. In another story of spatial empowerment,

Pallavi explained how she was with her parents in London and, on the day she was due to fly with them to New York, she decided to stay in London and enrol at a summer school:

My dad took a split-second decision and said, “Great idea!” He left me there. We swiped his credit card, got me into the program, he left me at the foyer with nothing but my handbag, and he says “Okay, when you go back to the hotel in the evening, the keys of the room will be at the desk. So, go pick up the keys and I will leave your passport behind as well.”

Given the wealth of most participants and the accessibility of domestic and global travel, this is not surprising. Many participants also described owning geographically widespread businesses and some described more than one home.

Psychological empowerment and the spiritual secret of money

This section explores participants’ narratives using the theoretical concept of psychological empowerment and the spiritual secret of money described in Chapter Five

(Section 5.4.1). The spiritual secret of money explains how some wealth owners arrive at, and then pursue, the realisation that wealth can be used in the service of others.

Schervish describes this as a second level of psychological empowerment, where combinations of gratitude for fortune, deepening of commitment, and attention to the needs of others drive philanthropic engagement (Schervish 1990; Schervish and

Herman 1988; Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002).

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First level of psychological empowerment

The first level of psychological empowerment is a realisation by an individual that they have settled the problem of economic, temporal and spatial wherewithal. In differing degrees and proportions all participants had passed the aim of mere economic

“competence” (Carnegie 2009 [1920]: 192) required for comfort; and, described in interviews their quest for something equivalent to the “purposiveness” (Keynes 1963

[1930]: 201), introduced in Chapter Five (Section 5.4.2).

Prasad gave an illustration of economic competence in Chapter Seven when he talked about having multiple homes (See Section 7.6). Arul as already quoted in Chapter

Seven (Section 7.6) says that, “God has given us, say, 50 times than what we need or 100 times or some 1000 times”. Anup, whose personal income is probably at the lower end of the scale compared to the two participants above, said in relation to a commitment to support five students through school, “It’s not a burden on me to give, certainly not a burden on me. But you know what? I can avoid it if I want to because I ... maybe I could buy a car instead. Or, maybe I could go on a fancy vacation instead”.

Ajit described having all the wealth he could need for his family’s comfort and that now he had command of the even more valuable commodity of time. Another participant, Ahan described the realisation that his family businesses could succeed without him and he could spend his money, time and energy on other interests.

Examples of other participants’ economic competence have been provided in the discussion of discretionary resources in Chapter Seven (Section 7.6).

An answer by Kundan to Keynes’s ( 1963 [1930]) question about using wealth wisely and well (Chapter Five, Section 5.4.2) can be discerned from her statement, “I felt that wealth creation is about reinvesting back into society”. In her story, she explained

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when the magnitude of her wealth became highly public: “I was, a symbol of wealth, I want that symbol of wealth to be about philanthropy. Okay? Because wealth is not about this … you know, diamonds and pearls. That’s not what wealth stands for”. The incentive to find further purpose for her wealth, according to her narrative, was also influenced when a close friend became ill and struggled to cover her medical costs.

8.4.1.1 Philanthropy not yet their chief purpose

The participants above are at the first level of psychological empowerment. They are still creating wealth or engaged in business and professional careers. Their philanthropy is important to them, yet it has not yet become their chief purpose.

Pursuing private interest in the form of their business or professional priorities stays their primary focus. In addition to those discussed above (Section 8.4.1) at this first level are Nanthan, Prasad, Sabith and Rahul. For each, the management of their business and their philanthropy were indicated as closely intertwined—in keeping with the practice of corporate jugalbandi in India discussed in Chapter One (See Section 1.4).

Ashim is another who is still engaged in professional life, explained how, having reached the top of his profession early in life, he faced his own question of personal

“redefinition” and how to use his position. He determined “... it was much more important to define [to himself] how I would use my time as opposed to use my wealth”.

Now he says he gives one third of his time to philanthropic activities.

Lionel provides a further example. He did not indicate having the extreme wealth of most other participants, nor that he had reached the point of discovering the spiritual secret of money. He instead described how he followed a deliberately planned path towards creating a social enterprise, having first realised a predetermined goal to become financially secure. He had achieved the task he had set himself of accumulating

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USD $1 million before retiring from his executive role and investing his time and skill in founding and leading a social enterprise.

8.4.1.2 Those born or married into wealth

Others who appear to be at the first level of psychological empowerment include some of those who had been born or married into wealth. For them, too, there is the potential of what Schervish describes as “a major transformation in consciousness tak[ing] place at some point as they come into that wealth…” (1990: 73).

Parizad, for example, participates as a trustee in the major decisions taken concerning the extensive philanthropic programs undertaken by her family through marriage. The passage to her understanding of wealth and privilege also passed through her school days, which she described as “the greatest, greatest leveller in my life”.

Though her home was not as wealthy as her present family by marriage, she still could relate the shock she experienced when she realised that her own parents’ domestic staff had incomes better than some of the parents of girls who came to her school. She learned from this that she did not want to stand out in the crowd—she explained how some people say that she is “so unassuming”. This, she said “gives me a lot of leverage to do what I want, without being out there in the front”. This wisdom has allowed Parizad freedom to follow her own identity and professional career; and, as a result, has been able to fund with her own earnings her personal philanthropy, independent of the family philanthropy, into areas close to her own heart.

Ragini chose to take the role of leader and innovator in the philanthropy of the family into which she married. She first became involved in the family’s corporate philanthropy and later encouraged the creation of (and assumed) the formal role of chair of an independent family foundation. In addition, she has completed a Master’s

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Degree in Sustainability at Cambridge University. She has also been the chair of an organisation that provides legal advice and training to nonprofits.

The second level of psychological empowerment

The narrative of a complete transition from purposeful wealth generation to a purposeful focus on philanthropy was absent from the stories described above. Such a complete transition would have taken them to the second level of psychological empowerment. Schervish (1990); Schervish and Herman (1988); Schervish and

O’Herlihy (2002) explain this is achieved when the wealthy evaluate their moral or spiritual priorities and “move beyond pursuing private interest … to pursuing public needs as their personal concern” (Schervish 1990: 73).

8.4.2.1 Transition to the second level arising with freedom from pressing economic cares

One example of transition associated with the deep internal evaluation that typifies moving towards the second level of psychological empowerment was described by Ajit, who as noted above (Section 8.3) had a moment of reflection on a flight back to

Mumbai from New York, after helping close a lucrative corporate merger. This led him toward the decision to retire from corporate life and after further reflection a resolution to explore the social sector. In the sector he found “the dynamism … was a refreshing change from a staid corporate sector.” This convinced him to offer his experience and most of his time to the sector on a pro bono basis.

Such transformations are not always a “dramatic realisation” (Schervish et al.

1994: 73). The narrative of transition for Anya began with the double tragedy of— within 18 months of each other—the death of first her husband then son. Anya was

thrust into the role of chairperson and chief executive of their family company.

Part of her story includes how her son, shortly before his death, had furiously lobbied

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her to give more to charity. “Poverty in India bothered him terribly,” she said. Then after his death, she said among his papers it was discovered he had written: “My conscience is like a mosquito trapped in a net … keeps biting”. At that challenging time for her both personally and corporately her or the corporation’s ability to give either substantial time or money to philanthropy was circumscribed. The culmination of this narrative comes with her account of her decision to hand over the reins of the business which she had led through a period of substantial growth during the several decades that followed these tragedies. Her intention now, she explained, is specifically to invest most of her time in other roles, as a board member and chair of nonprofit organisations.

For Arul the transition from private interests to an increased focus on pursuing public needs (Schervish et al. 1994) began, according to his account, when he realised that he could do be of more value if he put more of his time into understanding the realities and solving the problems of the Musahar communities—the so-called Rat

Eaters—his family’s foundation were supporting. By that stage he said, (like Ahan) he realised the family business could manage without him and he could afford to spend

80% of his time travelling and being on the ground in the remote areas these people live.

Arvind’s narrative described his belief that “I really don’t need the money beyond a certain point” and “money also is a powerful tool that can be used for good.”

He described how he withdrew from most of his business interests and become fully involved in managing the nonprofit think tank and research organisation to which he also has committed most of the wealth he had earned

Rashmi had already begun to experiment with “how to do something that is done at a leveraged scale” when wealth started to flow from the business of which her

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husband was a co-founder. When a very substantial amount of capital was realised in a single transaction, Rashmi invested all of it in an NGO she had previously created whose mission was to provide solutions to one of India’s most pressing areas of need.

The story Venya told which relates using financial and temporal assets wisely and well, starts with the IPO of the investment firm of which she was CFO and her husband CEO and a co-founder. She reached the second level of psychological empowerment when she deliberately quit her company role in order to focus fully on the company foundation which had been a part of her portfolio as CFO. She used her freedom from her former executive responsibilities to undertake an analysis of the social sector. Her analysis and deeper understanding of the sector’s challenges has since shaped the choices about what organisations the foundation, which she now heads full time, would support; and how to do so effectively. This foundation is now one of the larger and most visible grantmaking foundations in India.

The story told by Zahira indicates that her moral focus was towards public need long before the acquisition of wealth provided the opportunity for a transition to active engagement. She said:

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t care about other people and I always did. Maybe I wasn’t able to do much about it. Maybe that was bothering me a lot, maybe I didn’t realise how much it was bothering me. Therefore, I’m so happy now, you know (Zahira).

Happiness, Schervish suggests in a number of papers, (Schervish 2000a, b, 2003,

2006, 2008; Schervish and Havens 2001b; Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002) is according to Aristotle the ultimate goal of a good life and is the result of making wise choices.

Zahira’s story suggests that she and her husband gained wisdom as their media and entertainment business became successful and they realised it was influential in

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people’s lives. She described their organisation’s influence in the market as “disruptive”, and added, “I knew I was moulding peoples’ thinking which is a very important powerful thing to do and must be done with far more care than most people do it”. The foundation of which she now is the full time CEO was created by her husband and her after they sold their business. Zahira says that she now undertakes to carry the same care and responsibility forward into its work, which she explained was equally

“disruptive”.

8.4.2.2 Reaching the second level of psychological empowerment with wealth from birth or marriage.

For those whose wealth came through birth or marriage can also be “a major transformation in consciousness” (Schervish 1990: 73) (See also Section 8.4.1.2 above).

For Pallavi, who was born into a wealthy industrial family, transformation towards a public purpose began when her father was diagnosed with cancer. He said to her that if, when he was young and had started using tobacco, somebody had told him how bad this would have been in his future he would have never done it. That was the inspiration which took her to the hospital where he was being treated to ask, is there someplace we can “… talk to people, talk with community and work with them on this issue of not taking tobacco and not succumbing to tobacco use?” As a result, she founded an NGO devoted to educating children about tobacco and drug abuse. Her commitment to philanthropy involves continuing to serve on this NGO’s board, as well as both a corporate and family foundation as well as managing the family’s financial investments.

A transformation in consciousness was related by Ahan, who explained how since recognising that his family businesses could be run successfully without him: “A lot of my personal time goes in … just seeing what’s happening in the world of creativity, in art and culture, and design and architecture, photography.” Contained within his 208

narrative is another element which Schervish explains as a feature of the spiritual secret of money—the experience of fortune or blessing (Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002: 24). In the words of Ahan: “You give when you’re at a certain age and stage in your life. And when you feel that you are slightly blessed”.

Ajay is another who has had the freedom, partly supported by his family foundation, to pursue a personal commitment to what he described as creating “… an education system that makes you successful in life”. The transformative process leading to forming this commitment, in the story he recounted, was the failure of his early attempts at founding businesses. From that came the realisation that his MBA from a top US business school had not given him anything of use in real life. His action as a result of this knowledge has been to set up a graduate business college in Mumbai, which he was planning to expand across multiple campuses. He also described his involvement in the management of the other schools and colleges and social projects that his family foundation owns; as well as his involvement in other social enterprise programs.

Also born into wealth yet still engaged in running a business is Darsh, whose commitment and attention to the needs of others can be discerned from his statement,

“The reason I’m here is because I’ve got resources with which I can change people’s lives”. Darsh is a third generation of a wealthy family who, nonetheless, has founded and leads his own large business; yet, additionally has started a social enterprise. The first steps towards understanding the spiritual secret were a combination of his mother teaching him that people would only respect him if he made a difference in their lives, his boarding school experience of less privileged schoolmates, and his father insisting

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that it was his responsibility to create his own business, not to expect to follow in his or his grandfather’s footsteps.

Hyperagents and producers of philanthropy

A result of the psychological and material capacity of some individuals to make a difference in the world comes the specific model of agency described by Schervish as hyperagency (Schervish 1990, 1992, 2000a, b, 2003, 2006, 2008, 2009, 2014b;

Schervish and Havens 2001c; Schervish and Herman 1988). Within the framework of structure and agency where agents interact with past, present and future, hyperagents, says Schervish (2003) are distinguished by their ability to make their own distinctive impact on the future

Participants offered many descriptions of themselves which indicated both their capacity to make a difference and the future of the impact they either were or were intending to make. Among the more obvious examples was Kundan describing the ways in which she has, and plans to continue, supporting access to hospital treatments and medical research. Arvind described using his wealth to influence the future of education in India through the think tank and grantmaking foundation he established, as well as being one of the founders and donors for a liberal arts university. Ahan, when interviewed explained some of the challenges he had faced in his determination to create a public art museum; a website shows that this project is now well underway.

Zahira described working holistically with multiple village communities in rural India to solve the root causes of their poverty; Rashmi and Lionel are committed in different ways to creating solutions to one of India’s most pressing areas of need, the provision and use of water.

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In each of these cases, the participants’ contributions were temporal and financial. Two participants offer examples of an alternative form of hyperagency that arises from their temporal, spatial and psychological empowerment rather than directly from using their material capacity. Though involved in family philanthropy, the day-today contribution of both Anup and Shaila was of their time as CEOs of nonprofit organisations. Shaila, when interviewed, said she had decided to set up some independent projects which she hopes she can scale up using her family’s position and corporate connections. Anup is committed to using the ‘voice’ he has, as a member of the elite, to change the future for children.

As a result of the hyperagency of the very wealthy comes, arguably, the most significant aspect of their philanthropy. Schervish describes their philanthropy as a social relation of production (Schervish and Herman 1988), and wealthy philanthropists as producers of philanthropy (Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish 1992, 1997,

2000a, 2003, 2005a, 2006, 2008, 2014b; Schervish and Herman 1988; Schervish et al.

1986). Philanthropists as producers and suppliers are unconstrained as to whom or whether they supply their philanthropy. This factor is evident in the many participants who have chosen to create their own NGOs rather than contributing to ones already existing.

A practical consideration arising from philanthropists as producers is relevant to

NGOs and their fundraisers in India. NGOs are not in a position to expect philanthropists to support their causes; instead, they should make efforts to understand the moral biographies and involve themselves with communities of participation to which potential elite supporters belong (Godfrey 2016a). The few occasions where participants described their support for NGOs other than their own, they referred to introductions

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through intermediary organisations (such as Dasra); or, for example, in the cases of

Suman and Venya, friends and colleagues.

Two noteworthy matters arise from the position of elite philanthropists as producers. Distrust of NGOs by philanthropists is reported widely in the literature of

Indian philanthropy by, for example, Dasra (2013), Kalra (2013), Kassam et al. (2016),

(Kumar 2014), Mahmood and Santos (2011), Reddy et al. (2012); (Sheth 2012 2015);

Sundar (2017) and Varadarajan and Chanana (2013). In contrast to this, as discussd in

Chapter Two (Section 2.1.4 ), there is at present a considerable debate underway in the wider literature concerning the consequences of philanthropists enjoying such power

(Callahan 2010, 2017; Giridharadas 2018; Reich 2018a). The debate is not new (see for example Arnove 1980; Fisher 1983) and is currently largely confined to US philanthropy—yet it is desirable that more is understood about this issue outside the

West. The present research contributes to this debate by including insights from other countries and cultures.

Chapter summary and conclusions

This chapter analyses the moral biographies of participants. A moral biography is composed of two units, the personal capacity (or empowerment) of an individual and their moral compass.

Chapter Seven had already elaborated the financial and temporal aspects of personal capacity described by the participants as discretionary resources of time and money. These financial and temporal assets combined to create spatial empowerment which was evidenced by participants’ descriptions of their travelling widely. It also relates to some participants describing their geographically widespread businesses and other assets. Participants’ descriptions of their religious and spiritual capacities (or 212

values and beliefs) were also discussed in Chapter Seven as frameworks of consciousness.

Stories disclosing an individual’s moral compass, suggests Schervish, usually takes the form of a dialectic of fortune and virtue. The most common structure to the stories told by participants in the present research was in a form identified by

Schervish, where participants narratives consisted of an initial condition, a phase of liminality and a denouement.

The findings related to participants psychological empowerment conform with the two levels described by Schervish. Many described their arrival at the first level at which they are still creating wealth or engaged in business and professional careers.

Their philanthropy takes the form of their public contribution to social good alongside these other activities. Others have reached the second level, where they were able to describe their transition from purposeful wealth generation to a purposeful focus on philanthropy.

These capacities enable participants to be hyperagents and producers of philanthropy. They are free to determine to whom or whether they supply their philanthropy. Evidence of this was clear from participants descriptions of managing family and corporate foundations and/or creating their own NGOs rather than contributing to ones already existing.

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SUPPORT FOR ALLEVIATING POVERTY THROUGH EDUCATION

Introduction

The next chapters draw data from the narratives of the participants that express their actions and motivations related to providing benefit to others, that is their philanthropic agency is other directed or altruistic. The data presented is indicative that the majority of the activity described by the participants was dedicated to issues of poverty such as providing primary and secondary education in rural villages or urban slum areas, public health, and basic issues related to standards of living. This suggests a distinctly different pattern of philanthropy to that of consumption philanthropy considered to be the dominant strategy of philanthropy in the US by Schervish

(Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish 2000a), discussed in Chapter Two (Section

2.1.1) and, what some consider to be the self-serving nature of much US philanthropy

(Odendahl 1990; Ostrower 1995; Reich 2006, 2013a; Wolpert 2006). In contrast, this and following chapters suggests that there is a distinctively different Indian pattern of elite philanthropy.

The research interviews did not ask participants to specifically itemise the causes they supported, instead, they were given free rein to talk about their philanthropic activity in their own words and style, or own terms, as described in

Chapter Six (Section 6.3.1). The effect of this own terms approach is that it gives participants the opportunity to describe “the array of emotion, sentiment, belief, and duty” (Schervish 1992: 331) they have experienced and to situate themselves as actors

“who engage agentically within their structured environments” (Emirbayer and Mische

1998: 1004).

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Support for causes related to poverty

Most of the narratives shared through these interviews suggest that these elite

Indian philanthropists are concerned with causes that benefit others. In particular, they refer to relief of the poverty which they, the philanthropists, are acutely aware surrounds them.

In the interviews, philanthropists discussed their contribution to issues directly relating to poverty, including primary, secondary and technical education; health care for the poor; and, standard of living issues such as the basic and immediate needs of the most impoverished, the natural and physical challenges some face, and programs designed to ensure employment and promote empowerment.

Table 9.1: Cause areas participants described supporting

Education Capacity

Livelihood Education

Health

Other Arts

Non

Tertiary profit

   Ahan          Ajay       Ajit      Amit   Anup    Anya     Arjun      Arul   Arvind          Ashim      Darsh     Delara      Kundan      Lionel   Nanthan     215

  Pallavi           Parizad       Prabhu   Prasad         Ragini      Rahul     Ramakrishna    Rashmi     Sabith B     Salman     Shaila  Suman           Venya  Zahira    TOTAL 25 20 17 12 6 9 8

A Focus on Education

Improving the provision to the poor of primary and secondary education is the strategy for remediating poverty to which the largest number of participants indicated involvement. As shown in Table 9.1, twenty-five of the participants gave examples of support for primary and secondary education. The support they described was mainly directed to schools providing free education for children in both impoverished urban and rural settings. Other broad categories related to capacity building and training of teachers; programs to ensure better attendance and participation by students; support for extracurricular activity; and other interventions intended to improve education.

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Table 9.2: Broad categories of education related activity participants describe supporting

(Unspecified)Education Extra

Participation EDUCATION Capacity Schools - curricula

Ahan    Ajay    Ajit    Amit    Anup      Anya     Arjun      Arul     Arvind     Ashim     Darsh    Delara Kundan  Lionel   Nanthan   Pallavi    Parizad     Prabhu    Prasad    Ragini      Rahul      Ramakrishna   Rashmi  Sabith B    Salman     Shaila   Suman     Venya    Zahira   TOTAL 17 9 9 7 2 25

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The organisation of the findings in this section is around four underlying themes. These appeared through coding as the best way of structuring the findings as they provide some insight into what seemed to be common challenges, decisions and actions of participants. The themes related to:

• Whether to work within the government system or set up private

schools?

• Where to focus and whether on rural or urban schools?

• How to provide training and capacity building of teachers?

• How to ensure participation by children in schools?

The findings outlined are stories related to addressing grassroots education issues quite unrelated to the mostly private education experience of the participants themselves and their immediate families. Their engagement with these challenges strongly suggests their concern is for beneficiaries and the wider society. The narratives are strongly indicative of close and personal engagement and understanding of the challenges discussed.

Work within the government system or set up private schools?

The evidence from the sample of philanthropists interviewed provides a range of different scenarios and different answers to the question whether to work within the government system or set up private schools. This has as its corollary whether to charge fees. Public schools provide free education to children aged 6 – 14 as enshrined in the

Constitution of India (Government of India 1947).

A criticism of higher education philanthropy in India is that it is polluted by profit making motives (Sundar 2017). Despite the large growth in private primary

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schools, no studies are clear that similar concerns exist in this sector. Confirmation, however, that support for private primary education sometimes does mask self-serving purposes, as described by Sundar (2017) in respect of the tertiary sector, was provided by Anup. Anup knows the NGO education sector well having stepped aside from his family business interests to work directly within it. He explained that chains of schools are run as multi-million dollar businesses because the money to be made is so

“massive”. He then clearly illustrated the potential for rorting the system through running profit making, private schools through a hypothetical example:

… and the profits are somehow taken out. So, I’m the chairman of the Trust. I pay myself a massive salary. I buy myself a car. I hold my meetings in fancy hotels. I fly overseas at the organisation’s expenditure (Anup).

There was no common, generalisable approach, described by participants regarding whether to expend their effort on public or private education. The two participants whose education programs were the largest, by the number of schools managed, were involved with both government owned public schools and private schools owned by the participants’ corporate foundations. Other participants managed private schools that had been founded by their forebears, parents or grandparents. Yet others add resources and provide infrastructure to schools in partnership with government or municipal authorities.

Prahbu described a mixed public-private variant. The family foundation he chairs runs a primary school in the wealthy government and diplomatic heart of New Delhi which, he described caters for “... drivers who live in slums, domestic help, security guards, all their children …” The school, originally private, had been a project that his father had adopted in the 1990s when the school’s founder and principal decided to retire. Some years later, when Prahbu succeeded his father as head of the family trust, 219

he agreed to a partnership arrangement for the school under ‘Aided School Status’ with the New Delhi Municipal Government. The Municipal Government provides 95% of the teachers’ salaries. Prahbu’s family trust owns, maintains and improves the infrastructure and, additionally, enriches the children’s education with extracurricular activities at its own cost. Prahbu itemised these as ones the other government schools do not offer: “... computer classes ... art classes, art competitions, music, dance classes ...”

He also described some of these activities, with pride, as being as good as or better than his own son’s elite private school.

Other participants also described having inherited responsibility for schools founded by forebears. For example, Arjun continues to develop the school that his father founded. A further example is that the first of a series of education projects funded and managed by property developer Sabith was the village school of which his father had been the principal. Another participant, Ajay described educational establishments that his grandfather had founded and which continue to be managed by his family trust. Yet another, Parizad spoke with pride of the factory school set up by her marital family at which she and her sister-in-law at one time had taught, and which her own daughter had attended.

Nothing in participants’ descriptions of them either supporting and managing their own private schools or working with government suggested that they had any interest in deriving financial return from their involvement. Nor with the exception of the story told by Parizad above—which was intended to illustrate the standard of tuition provided the factory workers was as suitable for her own daughter as for their children—was there any suggestion that the schools supported by participants were the schools their own children attended.

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Whether to charge fees?

A corollary of the decision to start a private school is the option whether or not to charge students a fee for attendance. There were mixed practices evident among the philanthropists interviewed. Sabith, who—as well as the village school of which his father had been headmaster, has built and manages a number of schools and colleges—made it quite clear that no capitation fees were charged.104 Rahul told how initially his foundation, which runs hundreds of rural schools across India, had decided to charge five rupees a month to parents. Subsequently, the challenge that emerged, he explained, was that the cost of collection was almost the equivalent of the fees collected. As a solution the foundation then tried collecting Rs.15 in advance on a quarterly basis, only to be told: “We can’t pay”.105 This, he explained, was often because the adult householder from whom payment was expected was a single parent or grandparent; or, the household income earner was a migrant labourer whose earnings were sent back from the cities where that parent worked to the village household infrequently. In the end, the foundation stopped charging.

Another family controlled corporate foundation with a very large portfolio of rural schools, described by Ragunathan, enables 20% of students to attend on scholarships and charges 80% a low fee. In another example, the foundation of Arul and his brothers provides support to schools in remote rural areas, though these are run by an independent NGO. In those schools, a fee is charged to the students, but

104 Capitation fees are fees charged by some private secondary school and tertiary institutions over and above the government mandated fee. They are controversial and were declared illegal in 2016 by the Supreme Court of India.

105 Rs. 15 = approx. USD $0.21.

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the foundation provides around 10,000 scholarships for those unable to afford this.

A further example is provided by Amit, who explained how the family trust he chairs has started a fee paying primary school, in part, to generate additional income for a free, government aided secondary school it also runs. Even so, the trust website admits that many of the low income families it serves cannot afford its “deliberately” low fees. There were, therefore, differing views among the participants regarding the practice of fee charging. There was no indication from any participants that when fees were charged by schools this was done for financial benefit, excepting the cross-subsidisation explained above by Amit.

Where to focus and whether on rural or urban schools?

Blake et al. (2009b) suggest that in India donors are prone to funding temples and schools in the villages from where they came. Some participants did describe their support for schools to which there was a geographical family or business connection. Others, however, described having applied different criteria for their support. A factor for some participants was whether to support either urban or rural schools. Among them were those who spoke about supporting schools established by parents or grandparents or other members of their family, which were located around either ancestral homes or their primary business interests. These could, of course, be either rural or urban depending on family history.

For example, the school that Prabhu’s family trust runs in New Delhi is close to the neighbourhood where his family has their home. In contrast, the schools which Sabith’s foundation owns and manages are located in metropolitan and rural areas of the state where he grew up and where the rural school his father had been

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principal of was—even though much of his property development business is located in a different part of the state.

The location of the school founded by Arjun’s father has its own interesting story, which is very likely the same as the one described by Bornstein (2012) in

Chapter Two (Section 2.3.1). In both stories, a school and temple are founded at a site identified by a sadhu as the place where the earth opened and concealed Sita, a character featured in the Ramayana epic. In Arjun’s telling the sadhu was a former

Delhi Supreme court lawyer and friend of his father, whereas Bornstein simply acknowledges the sadhu was “known” to her participant, whom she calls “Mr P”. In

Arjun’s version, the sadhu was killed outdoors when an overhead high tension cable snapped; in Mr P’s account, as told to Bornstein, the sadhu was electrocuted by a telephone line which had started a fire under a carpet in the school. There are sufficient other similarities to suspect that the stories are of the same history. For example, Bornstein describes a son who had expanded the family business laying pipelines; Arjun is the executive chair of a multinational firm whose website describes it as evolving from a pipeline company to an international engineering and construction group. The point to this story relevant to the current discussion is that the school, now managed by the corporate foundation, is in a quite different state than the headquarters, and unrelated to the business focus of the multinational corporation which Arjun controls.

On the other hand, a school founded by the mother-in-law of Parizad and continued by the extended family, owners of one of the biggest corporate conglomerates in India, was intended for their factory workers in Mumbai. Blue

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collar or white collar, they all sat side-by-side, even her own daughter, as Parizad narrated it. A different case again is that of the schools that Ragini supports which are government schools, nonetheless, located in the city where her family’s manufacturing business is headquartered.

In another case, a business motivation for one of the two large family business foundations that both support large numbers of schools was made quite clear. Ragunathan as director of the foundation which manages 300 schools, indicated these correlated to the locations of the infrastructure projects with which the corporation was involved, “… because we leave local footprints...so it’s our primary responsibility to ensure that they benefit more from us than what they may have lost”. This is an example of a corporate investment to maintain its licence to operate from community stakeholders around its operations explained in Salzmann et al. (2006).

The family-corporate foundation with a large portfolio of 500 schools, had taken a deliberate decision to focus “only in villages” which, in the Indian context, are by definition in rural areas. According to Rahul, the brother who chairs its foundation: “We took a solemn pledge that we will not open a school in a city or a town because children have the facilities available there … The rural children in

India are at a disadvantage”. The corporation operates telecoms across India, therefore some element of licence to operate seems probable in the family’s decision.

A different example centred on this question of whether to support rural or urban schools was provided by Salman, a corporate CEO, who has set up an educational trust with two other individuals. The three of them, disassociated from

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any personal corporate links, determined that their support would be for both urban and rural schools. Salman explained the different challenges of each alternative. His language reinforced the theme of this chapter that the concern behind their support of schools was related to concerns about poverty:

We talk about only rural poverty, but there’s as much urban poverty as well ... They are different. In rural, you have space. So, they could set up a school and educate kids ... In urban centres you don’t have enough land ... so we had to work on a classroom model there (Salman).

Other participants, such as Arvind and Venya, both who made their wealth from the finance sector, and Zahira, whose wealth is from the entertainment sector, described support for, rather than management of, schools. Their program of support for schools, among other projects they support, is in a rural area not apparently related to any geography identified with their business or family interests.

Taken together, it appears that participants applied various criteria when deciding the geographic location of their focus on schools. Though, in some instances, the choice was related to family or business circumstances for others the criteria were independent of either.

Providing training and capacity building for teachers

Some participants described providing support for schools in ways other than owning and managing them. They explained their support for teacher training, curriculum development and providing various additional resources for growing and strengthening the school sector.

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Supporting teacher training, curriculum development and capacity building according to its website are the entire focus of the foundation established by Arvind, and of which he is CEO and Chair. This foundation makes grants and undertakes research focused on teacher, principal and school management training, helps develop new technologies to assist school and curriculum management, and advises government. Arvind’s intention, as stated in interview, was to “… have helped solve some part of a very complex job” and “… provided a fresh perspective to the core education space”. As evidence of his other directedness, Arvind is not involved with any corporate interest likely to benefit directly from his philanthropy, his foundation is not named for him, nor do the schools his foundation benefits have any link to his family or him.

Other participants fund third party NGOs which provide training and capacity building for the education sector. Foundations mentioned by participants, which they support, were the Akanksha Foundation and Teach for India.

Ensuring participation of children in education

This section covers concerns and motivations expressed by participants concerning ensuring participation in education. One example of this was described by Rahul, whose family-corporate foundation manages 500 schools throughout

India. He described a pilot program, undertaken with an international collaborator that involves working with 15,000 out of school children in one state. Another participant, Arul described a program that uses music and song to convince extremely marginalised village families to send their children to school. The songs translated into Magadhi, a local language, he explained, repeat the very simple message that schooling children is a benefit to the whole community. One benefit is, 226

he said, that once they start coming to school, children’s hygiene immediately changes because the mother knows that when her child has to go to school, that child has to wash, wear cleaner clothes and use a comb in her hair.

There were other challenges described, however. “Parents will say,” Salman, who with two other friends, funds schools, explained, “Look, we want our kids to be educated and we hope you’ll do the right thing, but we can’t let them go for the whole day”. “Because of poverty”, Salaman added “A lot of kids are working. Helping the family with third, fourth income.” The response of Salman and his friends to that challenge has been to engage with Gyan Shala an Indian NGO which has developed a model using modular training of teacher and delivery of curriculums intended specifically for delivery in slums and other extremely deprived communities

(Vachani and Smith 2008). Among other features, the model includes designing the classes to be for three hours each day and be within walking distance of the students’ homes, which enable the children to work as well.

Other issues entwined with school attendance mentioned by participants were child labour and, for older girls, the lack of toilets in schools. One intervention which encourages attendance at schools, mentioned by some participants as a cause they are supporting, is by the NGO Akshay Patra which provides midday meals for children. Nanthan said that he and his wife had been contributing at least US $1 million each year to this program. Building toilets in schools is a popular cause which is discussed further in Chapter Ten (Section 10.2.3). The common cause of these interconnected challenges of toilets, midday meals and attendance is, of

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course, poverty; and the benefits of the philanthropic initiatives flow to society as a whole.

Summary and conclusion to focus on education

This chapter has focused on parts of participants’ narratives related to their involvement in education programs related to remediating poverty. The findings are organised around four underlying issues around which many described their actions. The stories they shared were illustrative of awareness and concern for others, rather than relating to obtaining advantages, such as profit for themselves or benefits for their families, communities or social network. Nothing in the stories they told of involvement and support of schools offered any suggestion of benefit to the participants, or what might be described as consumption philanthropy; though, there were indications suggesting licence to operate as a consideration for two large family corporations. The next chapter continues with descriptions of philanthropy related to training and improving livelihoods for the poor that similarly appears other directed or altruistic.

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LIVELIHOODS AND STANDARD OF LIVING

Introduction

This chapter reports how participants explained those elements of their philanthropy that relate to improving the living standards of those in poverty. It provides evidence that the actions of participants are driven by concern for the welfare of others rather than an expectation of reciprocal benefit. Twenty participants described or have links to activities related to livelihoods and standard of living for the poor (See Table 10.1).

Table 10.1: Broad categories of living standard related activity participants describe supporting LIVELIHOOD

Employment Water Sanitation Housing Women Financial Access Agriculture ReliefDisaster Sustenance

Ahan Ajay ● ● Ajit ● ● ● ● ● Amit ● ● ● ● Anup Anya ● ● Arjun ● ● ● ● ● ● Arul ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● Arvind Ashim Darsh ● ● Delara Kundan ● ● ● ● Lionel ● ● ● Nanthan ● ● Pallavi ● ● ● ● Parizad Prabhu ● ●

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Prasad Ragini ● ● ● ● ● Rahul ● ● ● Ramakrishna ● ● ● Rashmi ● ● ● Sabith B Salman Shaila ● ● Suman ● ● ● Venya ● ● ● ● ● Zahira ● ● ● ● ● ● ● TOTAL 12 8 7 7 7 6 6 1 1 20

The section starts with cases where philanthropists related responding to basic, emergency and immediate needs; then it offers participants’ examples of their responses and approaches to providing programs related to improving agriculture in rural areas; training and employment of the poor in urban centres; then, finally, participants’ examples of programs related to empowering of the poor, especially women through literacy, numeracy and business skilling.

Standard of living

Responses to emergency and immediate needs

Some participants referred to having directly responded to emergency disaster relief and immediate needs for sustenance. Arul indicated how the giving of the brothers in his family initially focused on responding to “natural calamities like drought, flood, earthquake, cyclone …” Amit explained how, rather than diverting his family foundation support, when there was massive flooding in a part of India his response was to mobilise the membership of the exclusive Delhi Golf Club, of which he was

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president, to raise Rs. 30 lakhs106 to support the relief efforts of a particular charity (the

Ramakrishna Mission), “... because we found they were doing a very good job”.

Another example of emergency response was given by Suman, which involved the foundation he controlled supporting a program of rebuilding schools after an earthquake. The response was to give support to another family trust not managed by

Suman but by relatives. This trust, Suman explained, partnered with the government to restore some 75 schools. At the same time, this second trust raised funds, locally and abroad, from donors (such as Suman) to augment the funding from government and ensure that the new school buildings exceeded government standards.

Another participant, Sayed, described a different type of personal response to a natural emergency. In this case, he acted in the capacity of leader of a corporation of which he was then CEO by releasing employees to work two to three months on the company’s pay, to aid flood relief projects.

Other participants described short-term interventions to problems related, not to natural disaster, but to immediate effects of extreme poverty as they encounter them.

Arul, for example, described how his family foundation on some occasions provided

“rice and other things” and, that, “ ... to many people, we give money orders … send money orders. Say Rs. 500... Rs. 700 per month to 2,700 families”. He made the point that many people recommend against giving out money because it encourages begging.

However, he explained his reasoning:

I’ll give you one example, the mother is blind, daughter and son are mentally retarded … husband is old … and husband’s sister. Unless you give them money they are going to starve.

106 The noun lakh is commonly used in India to indicate a unit of hundred thousand (100,000). Rs. 3,000,000 = USD $42,260 using live mid-market rates (https://www.xe.com/currencyconverter/convert/ Accessed 12 October 2019).

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Zahira explained how her foundation had also undertaken short-term interventions, giving special packages of food to children in some rural areas. She described this in a tone of frustration as, variously: “... just getting bogged down with actually doing the business of getting them out of poverty”, a “whatever-it-takes approach” and, as a necessary response to anaemia, to de-worming and to malnourished children.

Water

A very basic need in much of India that some participants described supporting was water for drinking and sanitation. Ajit, for example, while describing mentoring a nonprofit society that has a program in a village the aim of which was—in the interview he said “my aim” indicating his instigation of this particular program—to improve women’s literacy, employment, medical help, housing and water. “And, the water was a very interesting piece,” he added. His approach, he explained, was to enlist, as collaborators, an NGO and a corporate with which, in both cases, he had connections to the leaders. The model of intervention he described meant that—after an initial contribution of capital and technology by these two collaborators—village “self-help groups” would charge ten paise for a litre of water, in order to ensure longer term sustainability.107

A similar model also aimed at ensuring sustainable self-financing was described by Amit. It related to a project in urban slums through which water filtration units were installed in specific homes. These particular homes had also been selected as hubs for

107 Ten paise is 1/10th of a rupee. The paisa was removed from the Indian currency in 2011.

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other activities facilitated by the family foundation Amit chairs, including education and savings and loan facilities and these parts of the program are described later in this chapter (Section 10.4.2). For the water project, the family foundation collaborated with the municipal authority to install the filtration units. Once the units were installed, the householders paid a nominal amount which was kept and then released when needed for any maintenance of the filtration units.

Water is the sole focus for the philanthropy of one participant, Rashmi. After acquiring significant wealth from her share of an IPO, she spent some time involving herself with other causes, including microcredit and children’s literacy, until she, to use her words “hit upon water”. She described her foundation as “the only such Indian foundation working in the water sector”. By this she meant that water was the sole and exclusive purpose of the foundation.

Another participant, Lionel, also is completely focused on water. His model, however, as will be explained, is a social enterprise—a hybrid of for profit and nonprofit activities—thus distinguishing it from Rashmi’s foundation.

Lionel recounted how his childhood obsession with water grew from the time a single tap was installed in his home, the only home with a tap in the village. He explained that, when it was installed, it was six feet high, yet five years later it was one foot below the ground:

There’s no water pressure. And we had a hand pump in our house which was at initially 100 feet then it became 200 feet then it became 300 feet and then it ran dry. (Lionel)

His experience of water shortage grew as he took on summer camp projects during his high school years. He saw the problem replicated, again and again, he said, in twelve villages in which he and school mates worked. A subsequent career, first in 233

travel-related services and later with a global food and beverage corporation, equipped him with an international perspective on water issues. It also alerted him to a problem he described as, “everybody is focusing on drinking water ... to the exclusion of other water related issues”.

His solution has been to develop a social enterprise, which integrates water supply, wastewater recovery, and either reuse or what he describes as an environmentally friendly method of discharge. The social enterprise he has developed combines for profit, revenue earning activities which commercially exploit technologies he and his colleagues have developed with nonprofit activities including education programs. Under his model, he said 65% of the profits from commercial activities are spent on the enterprise’s nonprofit activities.

Toilets

Toilets are another basic issue to which several participants described providing support. The interviews in these cases took place both before and after Prime Minister

Modi took office and launched the Swachh Bharat Abhiyan (Clean India Campaign) program, “To fulfil Mahatma Gandhi’s dream of a clean and hygienic India” (Prime

Minister’s Office).

In fact, participants were quick to claim that their initiatives were their own.

Kundan referred in interview to the fact that, “I built toilets long before our Prime

Minister talked about that”, and Ragini said, “... way before it became the, sort of, flavour of the year, we have been supporting sanitation”, adding, “... and that is because of my whole personal interest in that space”.

The family-corporate foundation which Rahul chairs, he said, has built 5,000 toilets. The foundation, he added, has pledged one for every home in the 900 or so

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villages in his family’s home district. This was a commitment, he explained of, USD $17-

$18 million, to ensure that the region becomes free from open-defecation. In support of this goal, as he told it, the foundation has mobilised the children from the schools that it also manages in the villages, to campaign for the installation of toilets. As he said:

I brought my children into the streets. In Ludhiana, we have 50 schools, so that would be about 8,000/9,000 children. So far, they’ve covered about 200 plus villages. They hit the streets, posters, campaigns, awareness drives ... why toilet is important. My [sic] children hit the street like hell. Today, whenever I go, even people who have half a toilet they are coming and fighting with me, please build a toilet in my home.

The paternal emphasis of “my” is noteworthy and is seemingly indicative of a sense of personal involvement by the participant in the program and the lives of the children the project works with.

In addition, Rahul recounted the foundation has equipped every government school in rural Ludhiana, which did not already have one, with a female toilet block; as well as in its own schools and the schools it manages for government. The building of toilets is a response to a major problem in rural India which another participant, Suman, also described funding in terms indicative of a close personal concern:

… after the age of 10, 11, when they reach to the stage of menstruation and all those things, they start ... they stopped coming to school because of the ... because they’re without the toilet blocks.

Housing

Contributing to housing for the poor was a cause to which participants described different forms of commitment. Ajit described providing a roof over everyone’s head as one of his five goals for a nonprofit organisation he mentored. Anya referred to contributing from her own personal funds to housing for the destitute. Ajay described how his family foundation built housing colonies, through which housing is provided to low income earners at low rent. 235

Another way of contributing towards housing the poor, which Suman talked about, was the support that the firm he and his brother founded make to the NGO

Habitat for Humanity India. Their investment firm, according to Suman, started first by helping build 100 homes, and then the next year 200; and, he said, they have continued.

The firm’s contribution, he explained was USD $1000 for each house. Additionally, teams of employees from the firm spend three weekends over December to January each year helping build houses.

He explained the satisfaction that he personally enjoys when he sees the changes in entire families once they have a proper house. The children can begin going to school, he said, and the drinking, and abuse of other family members, by the men, begins to decline. This was achieved, he implied, because under the Habitat for Humanity model it is the women who are given responsibility to be the managers of the new homes.

Income generation

Skilling, vocational training or adult education

Five participants talked about “skilling” labour as an activity in which their family or business foundations or their business directly was involved. In the first four cases the interventions described were provided either through their business foundation or directly by the business.

Arjun, first referred to the foundation his father established, and for which he now takes joint responsibility, as starting an adult education project, through which women are taught skills to augment their income. Skilling, also, he added, has become the focus of the corporate foundation associated with the business he leads. In this

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instance he explained a rationale in business related terms, though reflective of the wider business community:

No, no. Just across the board. It could be in construction trades, it could be medical, it could be just … even working as domestics. Raise the level from just of those chokra108 boys that come into your house to do something. To actually train him to do something where he raises the level to that of almost being somebody that works in a hotel. You know, as a housekeeper or as a waiter or a busboy or whatever. There’s skilling that is required in everything. And India’s demographic dividend, that we are talking about and hearing politicians speak about, could actually become a massive liability if we don’t skill them. So, I think skilling generally is likely to occupy a lot of our time and effort and money (Arjun).

Another business leader participant, Darsh, who founded and runs a telecommunications company, also described a corporate focus on skill development.

More specifically, as he explained, the business he leads has set up a training academy to build the skills it directly needs. He continued, however, by explaining, “Whether you plug that under ‘social’ or ‘business’ it doesn’t matter. To me, every business addresses a social cause.” He added, using terms similar to Arjun reflective of the wider business community:

What we are facing is that people are not skilled. The young generation is not skilled because the quality of education, and the nature and the content of education is not employable, leading to employ good skills. We need to invest in that infrastructure and do skill development (Darsh).

Pallavi described how her family’s business foundation, started by her father but which she now chairs, promoted skilling among men from the villages surrounding new factories that they had set up. The newly skilled men, indicating an element of reciprocity, of course, were then able to work in those new factories.

108 A hindi term for a youth employed as a servant.

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Raganuthan provided a further example, though, in this case, he implied the focus and the benefits were not only to the communities from which the family corporation recruited its immediate workforce but to the wider social and economic environment affected by the airports which the firm built and operated. “It’s our primary responsibility to ensure that they benefit more from us than what they may have lost”, he said. In support of this, he enumerated three skills the foundation helped develop, being equipping local people for horticulture, housekeeping and cab driving.

Clearly, though, as he explained, there are indirect benefits to the business itself, not only in the sense of being seen as a good corporate citizen but also through improving the social and economic ecosystem surrounding the business’s large projects.

As he put it:

We are not legally obliged to give them jobs, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that there are expectations that they will have, namely that they want jobs because we are there. How do we address that? So, we address that by skilling them and not absorbing them ourselves, but through our sub-contractors. Like supposing it’s an airport, there is horticultural development, there is housekeeping, development, you need cab drivers ... So, we skill them and then give them jobs (Raganathan).

Prahbu explained a similar logic of investment in skill development, except about using his family foundation, rather than, as in the cases above, a business or a business foundation as the vehicle. In this case, though, at the time of interview, what he described was aspirational rather than a reality. The beneficiaries of the program of skill development would be the businesses local to the school which the foundation managed. His plan—given the location of the school near a busy retail market and the fact that its facilities are underused outside of school hours—was to talk with locally based businesses who might be interested in running vocational classes.

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Prahbu explained his aim as supplying vocational training that will lead to a job, nearby:

We’re in the middle of town, we’ve got Khan Market, and we’ve got restaurants. Restaurants need people coming in as waiters and service staff. So, we can actually set up a program where we train children to ... students, school graduates to actually understand how a restaurant functions and then, give them a job.

He explained his intention to approach organisations like KFC, McDonald’s, and similar Indian restaurant brands to offer them this opportunity “… and we don’t want any funding from them or anything,” he added. He further added he was also open to the possibility that it may not be restaurants or retail, but drivers, carpenters and electricians for which it turned out there was the most demand.

Improving agricultural practice

The mission of the organisation that Zahira and her husband founded is stated by its website as to empower “... one million rural Indians every five years, creating a permanent, irreversible change for good”. Improving agricultural practice is one of six

“verticals” designed to achieve this goal, Zahira explained during interview. The other five verticals explained by her are community mobilisation, water and sanitation, livelihood, education, and health and nutrition. The foundation’s declared aims about agriculture include overcoming poverty, improving productivity, providing farmers with access to markets and building partnerships across value chains.

In interview, though, Zahira expressed her anxiety waiting for results:

“Eventually malnutrition will be sorted out by a richer farmer. Once he’s richer he’ll feed his children. But we cannot afford to wait. So, what can we do in the interim?” As one thing that can be done in the interim, she explained that they are teaching mothers the

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skills of kitchen gardens “... they grow chillies ... lemon, a few drumsticks. There are a few things, which they have just put into their diet”.

Similar holistic aims to those described by Zahira above are also expressed on the website of the foundation set up by Venya and her husband as: “... augmenting rural income through the use of improved and sustainable agricultural practices”. The principal difference between the two is that the former is an operational foundation working directly with beneficiaries, and the latter one is a grantmaking foundation, providing its support by financing other NGOs.

Rural Non-agricultural income generation

The foundation set up by Arul and his brothers works in very marginalised rural areas among some of the poorest of poor people. The Musahar, or Rat Eaters, have no land tenure and therefore for them earning income through agriculture (except occasionally as casual labour) is not a possibility. The foundation, Arul explained, therefore, funds other means of income generation for village women. Examples he provided were papad production and making soup.109 The foundation, additionally, would provide families with a small hand cart so that they could transport these products and sell them. Another scheme in these extremely poor areas that he described involved piecework, providing the village women with cloth pieces which would be sewed together to produce children’s clothes and blankets. A printed information sheet provided during the interview stated that over 500 sewing machines had already been distributed and 200 more were to be given to village women, all free

109 Papad (also papadam, papadum, poppadom, papad, and appalam) is a South Asian flatbread.

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of charge. The women’s earnings, Arul explained, were to be kept by the women. He added, “We give them jobs, make them self-sufficient to live with dignity”.

Empowering women

Approaches that focus specifically on empowering women to improve their ability to overcome their economic disadvantages are described in the next two sections.

Numeracy and literacy

A similar logic to that described above by Prabhu, concerning optimising the use of school premises out of school hours, was explained in interview with Amit as having occurred to him as a possible project for the family foundation he chairs which runs schools. In this case it was intended as an initiative specifically related to empowering women. He explained how he initially had the idea of using classrooms out of school hours to run literacy and numeracy programs for “the upliftment of the extremely poor, disadvantaged sections of society”. It did not work because many of these very poor people were not always the managers of their own time. This, he explained was because they depend on casual jobs and they needed to work at whatever time such work was available. The solution by his foundation was that it acquired teaching software that could be accessed by those who wanted to study at any time, using computers which the foundation provided in the slums where the people lived. Each computer would be set up in a slum home.

These were the same homes referred to above (Section 10.2.2) which also had been selected as the location for water filtration units. The water filtration project was a partnership with the municipal authority. The numeracy and literacy program, he

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explained had been achieved with the support of a power company. The power company funded the computers and, in return, the woman in whose home the computer was located ran a payment centre for the payment of the power company’s electricity bills. These homes now became the place where a group of 20 to 30 or so women would use the computer to follow an online literacy and numeracy course. Amit reported that

“Seven years ago we started with fifteen women and one centre. Last year, we had 312 centres teaching 9,000 women. So, this year’s target is 700 centres teaching 20,000 women.”

Empowering women through savings and loans programs

The idea, Amit explained, has now developed even further. The women, now having become accustomed to making payments within their circles, are next being encouraged via a different partnership, this time with a bank, to contribute to a savings and loan program. He explained that each woman is asked to contribute a small amount, a corpus is built, and interest is earned, and when it is needed women can borrow. In the words of Amit, “That has been a phenomenal benefit to these women. It is managed by them. We have nothing to do with them … we only act as a catalyst or a facilitator”.

There were two other saving and loans schemes described by participants as having adopted a similar principle to the savings and loan program described by Amit.

Ragini recounted how, with a social worker employed by the family-corporate foundation she chairs, they had formed women’s groups in communities around Pune.

Around twenty women come together and decide what to save. “Some of them put in as little as Rs. 50 a month, some of them Rs. 500…” Echoing Amit above, she also said, “Our role is the catalyst role, to just train them on how do you maintain books, to set up the whole system ...” The second such scheme was described by Arul, in interview and in the

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printed information sheet he provided, as comprised of hundreds of such groups in the

Musahar and other remote rural communities where his family foundation operates.

Together these groups held total savings of over Rs. 60,000,000.110

Microfinance and micro insurance schemes

Microfinance has an image in the Western world as playing a significant role in alleviating poverty in developing countries. Of participants in this research, however, only Rashmi mentioned microfinance as something she once had funded and. she said, had at one time become quite deeply involved with. “I’m not funding that sector anymore” she explained, “But there’s so much funding in that sector that really I don’t need to add my little bit to it”. Another participant, Ragini, wanted to make it explicitly clear that the “self-help” models she described were not to be confused with microfinance: “We work not on microfinance but what we call self-help groups”. She described these as groups where twenty or so women agree how much they will contribute and for what funds would be used.111

Kundan, though, whose business and philanthropic interests lay in mainly health care, described what she called a “micro health insurance program”. This calls for contributions of Rs.150 annually which then supports “cashless hospitalisation”. She explained that her interest arose because she realised that most rural people when they fall sick, fall into debt or even bankruptcy. She explained how she had persuaded a

110 The printed information sheet states “At present 4839 self help groups have been formed in 538 villages of six blocks. Total saving of all groups is over Rs.6,00,00,000”. Rs. 60 million = USD $845,174 using mid-market rates. (https://www.xe.com/currencyconverter/convert/ Accessed 12 October 2019).

111 Although, Ragini did not go into further detail her description was similar to that of a podupu lakshmi group. See Branigan, E. 2010. When Four Braids Come Together: Motherhood and Activism in South India, Saarbrücken, Germany, Lambert Academic Publishing.

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network of private hospitals to join her, as well as an insurance company and a Third

Party Claims Administrator.

At the time Kundan was interviewed she explained that she was working on a development of this initiative based on health vouchers, using a behavioural incentive model. Under this model, she was proposing to implement a package of benefits including hospital, drugs and diagnostics which, at that point, she reckoned could be done for a charge to a family of five of Rs.1000. This basic health cover could be augmented with additional vouchers based on incentives for positive behaviour. For example, she explained, abstaining from behaviours like smoking, drinking or chewing betel nut, meant additional vouchers would be issued. Complying with a certain regimen and having check-ups would earn vouchers; or, treatment of certain conditions, such as cancer, would be enabled by extra vouchers.

Summary and conclusion

This chapter analysed examples from participants’ narratives related to how their philanthropy contributes to improvements in the standard of living and the ability to generate income, especially of women, of disadvantaged people in India. The next chapter will focus on narratives related to the provision of healthcare, again their philanthropy is described as focused on disadvantaged people rather than facilities that benefit their own social class.

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HEALTHCARE FOR THE POOR

Introduction

The provision of healthcare for the poor is another area participants described supporting through their philanthropy. Seventeen of the participants (as shown by Table 11.1) have links to initiatives related to healthcare. In the section that follows, the narratives of participants relate to activities that benefit others, rather than their own families, friends, and communities.

This section gathers together participants’ descriptions of how their philanthropy supports the provision of hospitals and clinics; the provision of primary health care; the treatment and research of specific medical conditions; support for medical camps; preventative health measures; and interventions directed at the use of addictive substances.

Table 11.1: Broad categories of health related activity participants describe supporting Clinics, hospitals Primary healthcare Specific conditions camps Health Addictive substances ( Health HEALTH u

nspecified)

Ahan ● ● Ajay ● ● ● Ajit ● ● Amit Anup Anya Arjun ● ● Arul ● ● ● ● ● ● Arvind Ashim ● ●

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Darsh Delara ● ● Kundan ● ● ● ● Lionel Nanthan Pallavi ● ● ● ● Parizad ● ● Prabhu ● ● ● Prasad Ragini ● ● ● ● Rahul Ramakrishna ● ● ● ● Rashmi Sabith B Salman ● ● Shaila Suman ● ● Venya ● ● Zahira ● ● ● TOTAL 10 8 8 3 2 1 17

Clinics and hospitals

From the data in Table 11.1, the facilities most popularly supported by participants are clinics and hospitals. Unlike in the case of education, where participants could be found supporting both government and private initiatives, support for hospitals and clinics described by participants involves mostly private facilities. Though private, these were not private hospitals in the sense, of exclusive, fee charging institutions as they are in the West. The clinics and hospitals participants described were explained as places for the disadvantaged which offer their services at low cost. Descriptions of similar can be found in Bhattacharyya et al.

(2010) and Muraleedharan (1999).

Only one participant, Suman, referred specifically to support of government as opposed to private clinics. Suman explained that a trust he was associated with

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(not his own) had a project working with fifteen public health centres as a trial adding that the centres were not “not well made and well equipped.” He added, “If it does well, then we’ll take up more also”.

Family controlled hospital and clinic facilities

The model of private hospital or clinic facility most often described was one founded by a family member and continuing to be run by a family or corporate foundation with the close involvement of the participant.

The outpatient medical centre described by Prahbu was initially founded to serve a slum area in East Delhi by Prahbu’s parents. However, as he describes, these slums are now surrounded by lower middle-class housing societies. Nowadays the centre offers facilities for physiotherapy, pathology, CAT scan112, ECG, ultrasound, digital x-ray, and dentistry, and has visiting doctors for orthopaedics, gynaecology and general practice. As well as a Resident Medical Officer, as Prabhu tells it, there are 38 specialists attending on a daily or bi-weekly rota.

Prabhu explains that patients are charged Rs. 10 to meet with a Resident

Medical Officer.113 Echoing similar policies attached to charging fees for schools described in Chapter Nine (Section 9.3.2) he said, “We don’t want to give it for free because we feel that people should realise the value of it and not misuse it”. He added that the clinic is usually fully packed including with those able to afford other healthcare—“because our facilities are very clean”. He added, “We run it as a charity, but we run it as an organised charity”. The phrases italicised by the researcher were

112 Computed Axial Tomography Scan which produces cross-sectional images of the body using X-rays.

113 Rs. 10 = approx. USD $0.15.

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intended by Prahbhu to emphasise a contrast with other local clinics which he was intimating were managed less efficiently. Another example where Prabhu made this contrast with another clinic occurred later in the interview when he describes a nearby voluntary clinic run by a religious trust. The context was the charges for and delivery of results from CAT scans. The neighbouring clinic charged Rs. 500 compared with his clinic’s Rs. 750. That neighbouring clinic, he reported, takes, three days to return a report and only one film to the patient; whereas, his clinic returns a report with two films within a day.

Prabhu also described visiting a private dentist once when he needed treatment and then declining the treatment when he realised that the dentist in his foundation run clinic could offer the same standards of treatment for significantly less. The overall implication of all these narratives is that his family philanthropy is supporting a high standard of healthcare and a cost affordable to the poorer classes.

Rajni, who chairs her family owned corporation’s foundation as well as other philanthropic organisations, described a history in many ways quite similar to that described by Prahbu, except that in her case she was talking about a 30-bed hospital.

As was the situation with Prabhu, the neighbourhood in which the hospital had been founded has changed. She explained:

When my father-in-law set it up in the late ’70s it was a much more ... it was a smaller, more impoverished community ... but like, you know, in India everywhere ... it’s I would say a lower middle-income community where people’s incomes are … they are shopkeepers, they are ... so they jolly well afford the hospital! (Rajni).

Patients at this hospital, she explained, similarly to the former case, also pay fees. They pay the small amount of Rs. 5 for the initial consultation, and additional

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charges for services such as dentistry.114 If admitted to a ward, the bed is free, though meals are not provided. If surgery is required patients asked to provide certain standard materials, for example, she says “... the IV fluid” (presumably saline solution). The hospital draws on consultants whom she described as “eminent doctors here in Pune,” who “believe that they are doing this as a sort of like a social service … We pay them for their transport and a very minimal amount”.

It appears from the descriptions by Prabhu and Rajini of nominal fees charged and the kind of patients treated, that although managed and owned privately, neither of the medical facilities described above were driven by a profit motive. Additionally, it seems clear that they were intended for the community in the areas they are situated, rather than to the economic and social circles to which the participants belong. Although Prabhu told a story about taking dental treatment from the clinic his family foundation runs on one occasion, there is no suggestion that the clinics and hospital facilities generally are intended to benefit those whose family of corporate foundations own and manage them. The descriptions were of facilities for the poorer members of society.

A website associated with another participant, although these were not discussed in interview, describes two facilities funded by his family foundation in similar socio-economic terms. That is they are described as giving “... highly subsidised medical treatment to the low income residents of the surrounding area”.

114 Rs 5 = approx. USD $ 0.07.

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The Narayana Hrudyalaya (NH) model

A very different model of supporting health care for the poor was described by two participants. In these cases, they explained how their philanthropy supports private medical institutions which adopt the NH model, pioneered by Doctor Devi

Shetty, a cardio surgeon.

A story in The New Yorker (Levy 2012) explains the way a Bengalaru hospital—the first institution opened by NH—caters for the needs of the poor. The wealthy pay market price, thereby subsidising discounts for the poor, but they are compensated with convenience. At 4.00 AM, it’s free, 8.00 AM to 5.00 PM it is full price, 6.00 PM to 10.00 PM it is half price. “Everybody gets their needs met, but everybody gets what they pay for” (Levy 2012: 6). Two other papers also describe how the NH model subsidises surgeries for poor patients from the fees charged full- paying patients (Desai 2014; Khanna et al. 2005). The reason this model can work is that the hospital system keeps its costs low because of the high volume of surgeries performed, around double those of US hospitals performing similar procedures

(Docksai 2012).

One of the two participants who described their philanthropic support for this model was Kundan, the founder and executive chair of a biomedical manufacturing business. She explained how she partnered directly with Doctor Shetty to create a specialist cancer centre in the Bengalaru hospital described above. As she reported it in interview, part of the conversation regarding creating the centre between them went:

Doctor Shetty said [to her] “I’d love to do all this, but I don’t have the money or the wherewithal”. I [Kundan] said, “I will provide you with that through my philanthropy”.

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The actual history of the resultant institution is difficult to unravel from the websites of the parties involved. The most likely description would be that it began as a cardio hospital and would have been such when the conversation described by

Kundan above took place. Today this hospital is a 1400 bed multi-speciality city hospital with a cancer centre embedded. The corporate website (Narayana Health

2017) and annual report (Narayana Hrudayalaya Ltd 2016) make the private ownership and for profit status of the hospital clear. The report discloses that 62% of the company’s equity is owned by Dr Devi Shatty and Mrs Shakuntala Shetty

(Narayana Hrudayalaya Ltd 2016: 83). Kundan sits on the board of directors of the company though neither her company nor she personally has a disclosable share of equity. Because Kundan also chairs her corporate philanthropic foundation, it may have been the source of investment capital in the limited company referred to in the conversation she described above.

Her commitment to cancer care had been prompted, Kundan explained, because her “closest friend” had talked to her about the challenges, including financial challenges, she was facing with her own treatment for breast cancer.

Kundan described the effect of the support she had given to the hospital:

If you go to see the hospital, you will see huge droves of very, very poor people, constantly talking at the hospital because that’s the only hospital that caters to their needs, in terms of their price point and what they can afford. So, I think we really achieved a lot in terms of that kind of philanthropy (Kundan).

The other participant who described a philanthropic relationship with a hospital associated with the NH model was Ashim, the CEO of the Indian division of an international wealth management firm. In interview, Ashim described his own personal philanthropic support for constructing a paediatric hospital in Mumbai. He

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also described his wife as being heavily involved with the hospital. Further investigation on the internet indicates his wife heads a nonprofit children’s organisation, which is partnering with Narayana Health to create the paediatric hospital in Mumbai.

The paediatric hospital project is being part funded through a fundraising campaign launched through the First Givers Club, a project of Give India.115 The First

Givers Club is for individuals who are serious about their philanthropic intention and who have a stated they will donate a minimum of Rs. 5 lakhs116 annually to any

NGO (Give India 2013). Give India, of which Ashim is a board member, is a well known nonprofit which promotes charitable giving to the Indian public.

Primary healthcare

Of the data in Table 11.1, showing categories of healthcare, the second most popularly supported category by participants is primary healthcare. Several participants talked about what they described as “nursing homes” or “small hospitals”. Other words used when explaining projects participants contributed to were “community health”, “health camps”, “immunisation”, “medical outreach”,

“mobile vans”, and “preventative medicine”. The assumption taken from these descriptions is that the facilities discussed are smaller than the hospitals and clinics described earlier (Section 11.2). Furthermore, in contrast to the descriptions of doctors and other specialists offered by the participants in the earlier section, the

115 Giveindia. Mission: No Child Homeless [Online]. GiveIndia. Available: https://www.giveindia.org/ [Accessed 1 December 2019].

116 Rs 500,000 = USD $7,044 using live mid-market rates (https://www.xe.com/currencyconverter/convert/ Accessed 12 October 2019).

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descriptions covered in this present section, in contrast, are of non-physician medical staff, such as nurses or midwives.

Initiatives for providing primary care in remote rural India described as being supported by participants covered a range of services spanning the modern to the traditional—from the use of IT to the training and mobilising of barefoot doctors.

The stories in this section have been grouped for ease of discussion under the following categories:

• ICT provision

• Training

• Medical camps

ICT provision

One way of providing information and communications technology in healthcare was described by Kundan.117 This involved establishing what she described as “I-diagnostic centres”. She explained how mobile phones—“because we know that mobile phones work everywhere”—are used as a tool for capturing diagnostic data which can then be “uploaded on the cloud and then can be accessed from anywhere”. Kundan also explained another idea with which she was involved which, she explained, had come to her after listening to the Prime Minister discussing the “digital connectivity” inherent in India’s railway network. This broadcast had led her to think about co-locating primary health clinics at railway stations: “…instead of just using that station to catch trains, if you can actually use it for more because of the fact that it is digitally very enabled”. To create mobile clinics,

117 Subsequent to the interview an article written by Kundan on the technology described was published in the Business Standard, a daily English language business newspaper. 253

she added: “You can even use trains”. An adaptation of technology, in fact, for use in primary health service that four participants described funding was the provision of mobile, road vehicle-based mobile clinics, used to reach remote rural sites to offer medical treatment.

Training for primary health providers

At the other end of the scale to these modern technologies, lies the support described by Arul as provided by his foundation. This involved training and deploying local traditional healers in remote communities. An example he gave was training traditional birth attendants, widely known in India as dais. Although dais have been a feature of life for centuries the big difference funding was able to make, as he explained, was ensuring that the dais were trained in modern hygiene. Arul continued, “The second thing they are trained for is they should know the limitations ... and send immediately, refer patient to the higher doctors”. In the even more remote areas where trained physicians are not available, the solution has been training paramedical workers, whom Arul likened to the Chinese tradition of

‘barefoot doctors’. He further outlined that when patients cannot be treated by these paramedics, they are referred to a “small hospital” his family trust founded. In the printed information sheet on the foundation Arul provided during interview about this family foundation’s activities this is described as a 180-bed hospital with access to a range of medical and surgical specialities.

Another example of training people in primary care roles was given by Rajini, whose family-corporate foundation is involved in supporting health care in, in this instance, an urban setting. She described an 18-month program, training women as community health workers how to deal with ailments commonly found in slum

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communities. These she itemised as dengue, malaria and anaemia, with an emphasis on prevention.

Medical camps

So-called medical or health camps are a form of rural primary health care sometimes supported by corporate CSR programs and philanthropy, not always to public approval (Godfrey 2014; Joelving 2015; Pradhan and Ranjan 2011). A ‘camp’ is a temporary centre where teams of surgeons, usually themselves volunteers, supported by other volunteer staff and laypeople, undertake mass surgery to treat common conditions.

A description by Pallavi of how she remembers holding a torch during operations at an eye camp her family funded was reported earlier. Eye camps are also among the primary health programs funded and managed by Arul’s family foundation. During a part of his lengthy interview he spoke while showing slides with images and related statistics about what he was describing:

The Bihar eye camp. So far now, 600,000 surgeries. You see the last figure? In 30 years. This is last year’s figure. It’s 600,000 … something. And every year 44,000, 43,000 cataract surgeries.

Arul described how his family foundation organises and funds eye camps, polio correction camps, and plastic surgery camps—operating on conditions such as cleft lips and palates. Preventative health measures “... like immunisation, safe drinking water, various things like this … health education,” are also funded through this foundation’s work, reaching, according to a report the foundation has produced, tens of thousands of people in hundreds of remote villages.

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Ragunathan also described health programs of the corporate trust he leads, the funders of which own and operate highways, power projects and airports, as follows:

[We] operate camps, preventative camps, education, adult education, you know things like those relating to AIDS. Somewhere else, the issue may be women’s health, childcare, water-related issues. So, we do a whole lot of awareness camps, health checks, we operate mobile hospitals where we pay for the doctors and for the mobile clinic on four wheels and have a calendar by which the vehicle goes around some villages around our project sites (Ragunathan).

Specific medical conditions

Specific medical conditions were mentioned as receiving philanthropic support by some participants. Cancer has already been discussed as a principal concern for Kundan, who has put her support behind a cancer clinic and hospital.

Other medical conditions were described by participants as receiving their support included blindness, dengue, diarrhoea, leprosy, maternal health, mental issues, and tuberculosis. In addition, addictions were a healthcare challenge which two of the participants described actively meeting.

Ragini, the chair of her family’s business foundation, explained her approach being to support little funded areas—areas which, she said, are not supported by pharmaceutical companies. Mental health is one, which as she described, “... shockingly gets very little funding … and, I think poverty only, sort of, exacerbates the issue in a way”. Her family business foundation, she said, supports organisations working on mental health.

Funding programs in support of leprosy patients was one of the earliest activities undertaken by the foundation Venya leads. It was during the research undertaken when she decided to commit her time to the foundation (after the

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successful IPO of the firm her husband co-founded and leads) that Venya was first introduced to a leprosy colony, founded by the activist Baba Amte.118 With the personal encouragement of Amte, she explained, the first money the foundation ever gave was to this particular leprosy colony. The website of the foundation shows it has since broadened its program grants to wide support of causes related to poverty, among which leprosy remains included.

Another example of support for a specific condition, maternal nutrition, was given by Parizad. In this case she was speaking of her own personal philanthropy, giving from her own income. Just as Venya had, she did so after undertaking her own research:

Because, you know, I do go into the details. How much does it cost to support? How do you prevent malnutrition? Okay? So, I’ll say, the prevention of malnutrition—you don’t think about it after the baby is born. You think of it when the baby is still in the mother’s womb. And the woman in India is the last one to be fed in the family. The last one. So that child she is carrying is going to get no nutrition. And I found out, through another organisation, it takes Rs. 16 for one meal, for a pregnant mother to be nutrition … to have nutrition, so that she remains in good health and the baby has a chance of survival.

All the participants in this section so far were describing grantmaking programs. Other participants described programs in which they are more actively involved. Zahira explained how the organisation which she and her husband founded manages programs in rural communities addressing many aspects of village life including healthcare.

118 The late Baba Amte was an Indian social worker and social activist known particularly for his work for the rehabilitation and empowerment of people suffering from leprosy. Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baba_Amte. Accessed 24 November 2019.

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Maternal care is one of their concerns as described by their website. Zahira told a story explaining another concern. When visiting a village Zahira noticed how undersized the children were. She questioned a village official about this and, as she explained, he was silent a long time before finally, he leafed through the pages of a register to read out loud the names of children he had officially recorded as malnourished: “Madame, what can I do to reach them, will you help me?” he finally asked. When she visited the village health clinic, Zahira discovered shelves full of medicine which the staff said they were not able to distribute to the kids. The medical officer explained that the medicine was too “bitter”. Zahira insisted on trying it. She discovered that not only was it bitter, but that it also stained her mouth and lips blue. Her solution, as she told it, was to personally source an alternative medicine that was sweet enough that the children would take it.

Arul provided another example, how his family trust focused on specific conditions related to remote rural health care. Statistics rolled off his tongue in interview:

We have 18 million blind people of which 16 million were avoidable blindness. That blindness could have been prevented easily. Easily means, those who became blind of [sic] vitamin deficiency ... If a capsule of … costing Rs. 2 today, Rs. 2 could have prevented that blindness … that person becoming blind, that child becoming blind for the lifetime. That could have been possible. So, nothing else has been done. Otherwise, in our area, we work for few years and we could see that childhood blindness totally eradicated. Pregnancy related deaths, we call it maternal deaths, was 7.5 per thousand births in that area, which is very high. With effort of two years, it came down from 7.5 to 1.5. Maternal mortality? It was highest because we selected the poorest part of Gujarat. It was ... one can’t believe it. It was some 160 or 170 per 1000 births, before they reach age of one, they used to die. Out of a thousand, 170 people … children. And we could reduce it to 60, from 160 to 60. Severely malnourished children, from 21% to 3%, because they were not malnourished, just because of lack of nutrition. They were malnourished because of diarrhoea. Also because of the epidemics say, 258

because of measles. So, we control everything and started giving supplementary nutrition. So, it came down like this. This encouraged us. We eradicated totally, the night blindness ... the blindness, childhood blindness …

As he spoke Arul was showing slide after slide of photos, which he said he had taken himself. They showed shocking images of children and other inhabitants of the village communities where the foundation worked, mostly populated by the extremely marginalised Musahar or Rat Eater people.

Opium, and liquor addiction

Opium de-addiction programs in remote communities (in the particular instance described, in Rajasthan) were another area described by Arul as managed by his family foundation. The foundation runs a program of de-addiction which Arul said in interview had treated 28,000 addicts with a 50% non-default (i.e. not returned to using opium). They had hoped for a de-addiction rate of 75% but, he said, they have been told that 50% is a good rate. Elsewhere in the interview, he described a program for liquor de-addiction.

Tobacco abuse and children

Pallavi explained how, in addition to her involvement with both her family and her family business foundations, she had personally founded an NGO, to focus on tobacco use among children. She explained how this NGO and her family foundation’s support for cancer-related causes both came about as a result of her father’s smoking- related cancer. She initially became involved through the hospital where her father was receiving treatment. With the support of the chief of the hospital, who was also her father’s surgeon, she started her involvement with what she described as “tobacco control”. It was her father’s explanation to her of how he first began smoking as a child that, she said, led her to focus on dealing with young people and founding own “small 259

grassroots NGO”. This organisation has grown from initially employing only two people to employing some 80, she said. At her father’s encouragement, she decided to work with children of migrant labourers living in slum communities. This is how she described the way the charity responded to the challenge of working with these migrant family children, and the programs devised:

So, they [the parents] haven’t got a foothold in the city to really be able to make their kids do a lot more. So, the kids are coming from a different language sometimes, different states, different culture and setting and they come into a school where they have to now adapt and learn. Many kids, because of all the migration have also missed schooling completely ... You cannot do a single intervention. You definitely cannot work with them for 30 minutes and think that it will change their way of thinking. But more than that, we started understanding that tobacco control was actually … tobacco use was actually not the problem. It was a symptom of deeper issues within the child ... So, we then built a program which was a very child-friendly, enjoyable, engaging curriculum. And we started using extracurricular activities to build a messaging. So, we used arts and sports ... (Pallavi).

In interview Pallavi mentioned an assessment of the NGO’s programs having been undertaken and published by a team of public health researchers from

Harvard. The conclusion of these researchers was: “This program represents an effective model of school-based tobacco use prevention that low income schools in

India and other low and middle-income countries can replicate” (Sorensen et al.

2012: 1).

Summary and conclusion to Healthcare

This chapter reported on interviews where participants talked of their support of healthcare, though provision and funding of hospitals, clinics and other clinical outreach programs. As well, some provided grants or created programs to deal with specific health issues and diseases. 260

Although the hospitals and clinics were described as being run privately, explanations given by participants about fees suggest that these were not run for financial benefit. These descriptions of hospitals and clinics differ from the description of the hospital owning family which Bornstein (2009, 2012) includes in her study of dãn in Delhi. Bornstein’s Mrs A is as equally disinterested in those who her family foundation hospital treats in its free clinic as she is in the mendicants which wait outside the family home for dãn each morning. In the stories told by participants in this present research, indications of active involvement and concern for the welfare of those treated were evident

There was only one exception to the focus on providing healthcare for poorer beneficiaries. The exception related to a for profit hospital system, which two participants described supporting through philanthropy. This hospital system uses a tiered pricing model designed to cater for rich and poor. The inference of the explanations was that the hospitals would not have been able to offer the services described for the cancer treatment and paediatric needs of the poor without such philanthropy. There is reasonable evidence for this from, in the first case, the reported conversation which participant Kundan had with the hospital’s founder and major shareholder. In the case of the paediatric hospital, the evidence is its enlistment of the prominent philanthropic organisation Give India to assist with fundraising.

In only two instances did a participant describe a reason specifically related to their own immediate family or social network for supporting a health issue. In both cases this related to cancer, for Kundan, the illness of a friend and for Pallavi of her father.

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These above exceptions noted, the majority of what participants described related to philanthropic support intended to assist the poor, which did not offer any tangible benefit to the participants themselves. In other words, participants—as shown to be the case of support for primary and secondary education discussed in

Chapter Nine, or improving livelihoods in Chapter Ten—appear to be acting altruistically, without any expectation of direct reciprocity.

The next chapter will present an analysis of the descriptions given by those participants whose philanthropy was directed towards higher education and culture, two areas that in Western philanthropy are sometimes seen as self-serving and for the benefit of the class and community to which donors belong.

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HIGHER EDUCATION AND CULTURE

Introduction

This chapter reports on the descriptions by the participants of their support for institutions of higher education, culture and the arts. These are the areas that elite

Western philanthropists are sometimes described through their support to be acting in a self-serving manner because such support is often given to organisations and institutions from which they or their families benefit. The range of activities supported by participants to this research in higher education included the creation of new tertiary institutions, as well as support for research and chairs at existing Indian universities. Three participants described their involvement in support for culture.

There were some descriptions of giving to universities overseas and in one case support for elite international artists was mentioned. Two examples of giving to elite private schools from which participants had benefited are given.

Higher Education

There were twelve participants who described their support, in some way, of tertiary education. Among the ways of supporting tertiary education were scholarships for students, funding of chairs, funding of research institutes, the funding or management of private universities. In only one instance did a participant describe donations to institutions overseas.

Not of direct benefit to elite

Agarwal (2006) argues that universities can be categorised as elite in two senses, by enrolment ratio (Trow 1973) or by their contribution to economic, social or political

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transformation (Brennan 2004). In respect of Trow, the enrolment ratio of 9% in India places the university system in the elite category. Brennan, however, were developed category is more applicable to developing nations and by these, Agarwal considers India is closer to what Brennan characterises as mass higher education, preparing students for broad technical or economic roles; or, as Tilak (2004: 2159) suggests, higher education in India “has become somewhat ‘democratised’”.

In India, the children of the elite frequently enjoy an overseas undergraduate education (Deshpande 2006). Neither the question of the education of their children nor their own education was a specific line of enquiry during interviews with philanthropists. It is noteworthy, however, that of the elite philanthropists interviewed who mentioned the tertiary education of their offspring, it was in every case in terms of a university outside of India. Of those participants who described their own tertiary education there was a mixture of attendance at Indian and overseas institutions (See

Table 6.1). As further indication of the characteristic tertiary education of the Indian elite, Appendix F presents the publicly available tertiary background of elite philanthropists identified through press coverage, as explained in Chapter Six (Section

6.3.2). This shows that most attended either elite Indian institutions or universities abroad.

A possible factor in the lower level of philanthropy directed towards higher education by the Indian elite, especially the elite institutions of which many Indian philanthropists are alumni, may relate to what Myers (2011) noted in his PhD thesis. In this work he researched, then compared major gift fundraising at Canadian and Indian universities. Actively seeking funds by Indian institutions, he says, is little more than 10 years old (Myers 2011: 125). He describes the concept of fundraising among Indian

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university fundraisers and administrators as “… a donor driven activity as opposed to being institutionally driven. It relies on the philanthropist to come forward and offer a gift” (Myers 2011: 146). This, of course, is in complete contrast to North American and other Western universities which have highly sophisticated fundraising teams well practised at approaching alumni and especially wealthy alumni for gifts. Indeed, Arjun who has a son as an Ivy League university described how “the President has been eating my head out to provide a chair—a $3 million chair, an endowment.”

Support for elite Indian universities

Some participants described contributing to elite universities. One, “... because I have believed that higher education is so important for the betterment of mankind,” listed a series of US and elite Indian universities of which he is a donor. The family controlled corporation of another participant, “set up” and funds an academic department in the prestigious Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) Delhi. In addition, this family is one of four private funders of a research institute at the Indian School of

Business, in partnership with a leading US university. Others interviewed for this research are involved in funding chairs at existing elite Indian universities.

New private universities

Other participants have been involved in establishing new private institutions.

Although, as explained in Chapter Four, higher education was regarded as essential to nation building by Nationalists (Section 4.9), the state’s contribution to higher education declined significantly after Independence (Kapur and Mehta 2004, 2007;

Murthy et al. 2012; Tilak 2004). The decline during the 1970s to 1990s was consistent with a recommendation in a Government discussion paper (Government of India 1997, cited by Kapur and Mehta, 2007) to reduce subsidies to higher education and put

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greater emphasis on elementary and secondary education. Around a third of the tertiary institutions created since 1980 are private rather than public; nonetheless, by law they are nonprofit charitable trusts (Agarwal 2006; Kapur and Mehta 2004, 2007).

This century there have been two government commissioned reports examining education in India (Ambani and Birla 2000; Murthy et al. 2012). The recommendations of both were for a continuation of the growth of private investment in higher education, rather than an increase in state provision. It is not, perhaps, surprising that participants’ philanthropy mirrors the recommendations of these reports given that they and the reports’ authors are drawn from comparable elite backgrounds. The three names attached to these reports—Ambani, Birla and Murthy—are leading Indian industrialists who, either as individuals or members of a family dynasty, are engaged in philanthropy.

A question arises whether private institutions despite their charitable status can be considered “surrogate businesses or genuinely philanthropic?” (Kapur and Mehta

2007: 119). Kapur and Mehta (2004, 2007) support their argument by saying that philanthropy represents a lower portion of the revenue of tertiary institutions when compared with the fees that students pay. Another perspective, however, would argue that Kapur and Mehta adopt too narrow a view when they allude to “fixing the boundaries of what ought to be regarded as tax-exempt, philanthropic” (Kapur and

Mehta 2004: 24; 2007: 18). In particular, where it is precisely private universities that are being encouraged by the Indian Government, the response by some philanthropists by using hybrid models such as venture philanthropy and social investment arguably falls within the definition of philanthropy. Agarwal (2006: 92) argues that many of these nonprofit higher education institutions are “committed to educational excellence and conscious of their responsibility to their students”. He adds that the hallmarks of such

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institutions are their transparency, the integrity and knowledge about education of their governing bodies, and the absence of control by private individuals or family members.

One participant described the new private university being established through his family company as a private sector initiative, insisting such institutions were not philanthropic. Yet he compared the project to the creation by his great-grandfather, a famous Indian Nationalist and philanthropist, of one of India’s best recognised institutes of engineering. In response to further probing he offered the alternative description that this initiative was “institution building”. His response is hard to construe as a negation of philanthropy (researchers emphasis below):

Part of the setup cost is being funded by our family. But is it for a philanthropic purpose? No, it’s for the purposes of making a difference to society, connecting with society (Prasad).

Another of the participants, whose family by his description has long been involved in higher education and other philanthropy, articulated a hybridity between philanthropy and business. As he said, “So the whole idea that entities can only be only charity or only for profit ... you know the lines are merging, right?” He publicly describes himself as a social entrepreneur (on websites and LinkedIn), though he comes from a family involved in setting up education, health and other philanthropic institutions for three generations. I met with him in a new private MBA college which he had established. He explained the model for this particular project was that his family trust funded and owned the infrastructure, while the academic activities were being provided by a management company which was seeking private investment from industry partners. These industry partners would also help shape the courses offered. The academic rationale for this is the one that is increasingly popular in Western higher 267

education—industry should have a say in course design as a means of ensuring that graduates were well-fitted for employment. In his case, the seriousness with which he approaches this particular rationale is indicated by the fact that he is currently studying for a doctorate at a British university, researching education systems.119

New liberal arts university

Two of the participants interviewed were involved with founding a university on a very different model to those discussed in this section so far. Other new universities that have been founded since Independence have been predominantly institutions for the teaching and research in either STEM or Business areas. The provision of study in the liberal arts has not been a priority for private universities. The new exception, which opened during the period of this research, is Ashoka University which has been founded to provide a specifically liberal focus. The intention, as articulated in interview by Ashim, one of its donors, is “to build a world class university for India in a ... importantly, in a very inclusive way”. The university’s founders are identified on the website and include many of India’s leading philanthropists and business leaders

(Ashoka University 2017b). The intention of the university is that “Any student who has earned admission to the University will not be turned away if they are not able to pay tuition” (Ashoka University 2017a). This was described by Ashim as, “a manner in which folks who can afford to pay … broadly 40 per cent subsidise the rest, 60 per cent.

And these are people who have never be able to go to a Yale or a Princeton or a Berkley or a UPenn … and they’re able to basically go to a place in India and, you know, get that quality of education”. It’s too early to say whether, at some time in the future, Ashoka

119 His interest in undertaking doctoral studies is consistent with the point made above by Agarwal (2006: 92) about commitment to “educational excellence” and “responsibility to students.”

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becomes a university to which the Indian elite who are among its philanthropic funders or their family members become alumni. At the present stage, at least, it does not represent an example of consumption philanthropy nor seems analogous to the elite philanthropy that supports many Western universities described by Odendahl (1990),

Ostrower (1995) and others.

Support for university scholarships and research

A few participants explained how they support disadvantaged children with university scholarships. Within the context of the discussion it seemed that these were scholarships to Indian universities whereas descriptions given of their own and their children’s tertiary education predominantly involved attendance at overseas universities: hence their scholarship giving seems not to fall into the context of consumption philanthropy. The one exception being Parizad who funds talented students attendance at art schools and conservatories overseas (See section 12.3.2).

Two further areas of support for higher education described by participants were arguably less altruistic—their support for university chairs and for research centres. In context, the following instances might be described as offering reciprocal benefit. Two participants described support of research centres. In both cases there is certainly a measure of selfish concern, consistent with Atkinson’s (1990) concept of weak altruism explained in Chapter Three (Section 3.4.1). In one case, Kundan explained how she has also contributed to the establishment of a medical research centre, within the teaching hospital, described in Chapter Eleven, that she supports (Section 11.2.2).

The self-interest lays in the fact that Kundan, as explained earlier, founded and chairs a business supplying the medical sector. In the second, Rahul told how his family- corporate foundation provides support for a telecommunications research centre at one

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of the leading institutes of technology (IITs). In this instance, similarly, there was a clear and direct relationship with the family-corporate business of telecommunications.

Finally, two participants reported their involvement with supporting professorial chairs. In one case the chair had been originally funded by Prabhu’s father at the prestigious IIT where the father had studied, yet its funding was continued by

Prahbu. The second was the funding by the corporate foundation of Rahul of an eponymous chair in Information Technology in the state university of the region from which his family originates. This was one of the rare examples from this research of naming or memorialising a gift.

Summary

This section described philanthropic support for higher education. The small number of participants who support higher education contrasts with Western research, where it is one of the top causes for the elite. While some participants support well established, metropolitan universities, which in the Indian context can be considered

‘elite’, others have followed the path of supporting and creating new private universities. The literature positions these new private universities within the democratisation of higher education in India. These findings contrast with the proposition that philanthropic funding of tertiary education in the West is a form of consumption philanthropy, where such philanthropy is often directed towards institutions with which the donor or members of their families are alumni. The significant exception to this, in the Indian context described, related to the support of research facilities which were closely related to the corporate interests of the participants. This, it is suggested is an example of weak altruism (Atkinson 1990).

Additionally, the two instances involving support for academic chairs showed clear

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evidence of personal and business interests playing their part. The next section will report on the even smaller number of participants who described their philanthropic support of arts and culture.

Arts and culture

Introduction

The findings in this section are the closest of any from this investigation to the concept of consumption philanthropy. They show that a tradition of funding arts and culture which began in India during the late 19th century (Sundar 1995) has been continued by some participants. Their descriptions and explanations for their support of projects, however, continues to support a view that primarily their philanthropy is directed at others. This is certainly in contrast to the findings by Odendahl (1990) or

Ostrower (1995) regarding the US elite. Nor do the institutions or artists they talk about fit the description Wolpert (2006) offers of elite US foundations supporting major museums and symphony orchestras. The practices described are closer, perhaps to what Breeze and Lloyd (2013) discuss with respect to their UK findings in terms of improving access and supporting young artists.

Support for visual arts

Ahan was almost apologetic when describing his ambition to do something related to arts and culture, “… because India may have much more pressing needs— drinking water, the female child, education, sanitation, health.” Ahan, who through his family foundation, supports more traditional areas such as education and training explained how he has largely stepped away from his former executive roles within his family’s businesses to devote more and more of his time to collecting art. The interview

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took place in an art gallery which he runs through a nonprofit foundation. Another art- related nonprofit foundation he explained that he and some friends have created exists to promote photography in India by creating India’s first photographic gallery then replicating it in two other cities. Ahan wryly recounted how he also funds exhibitions to travel to India’s National Institute of Design (NID).

And then there was a chance meeting with the director of the NID in Ahmedabad. And I just made a taunt that, “How can you be the primary design institute in the country and not even have a full-fledged photography department?” And I said, “If you were to make a full-fledged photography department, I would send all my shows to you just for the students to see.” And I get a call a year and a half later— that we’ve kept our end of the bargain. You too, keep yours. And since then every show has gone to NID. So, I have to be a lot more careful with what I speak about in future because it has a habit of coming true [laughs].

His biggest ambition, however, which he confessed to keeping him awake at night was to create a museum of art for his home city in which he could make available for the public’s enjoyment and education his collection. As he described this:

So, there is art, there is craft, there is textile, there is photography. It’s popular artists, tribal and folk ... predominantly all Indian. So, we’ve started digitising it, documenting it, writing about it, categorising it. We’ve coined the name for the place, we’ve registered the name, we’re working on the website, but we haven’t found the site.

Since the interview, this ambition has been taken further and a website associated with the proposed Institute indicates that a museum will open in 2020.

Another participant, Parizad is well known as a collector of Indian art. The office in which she was interviewed was hung with several pieces. In her interview she laughingly said, “I have an art gallery, I am connected with the museums. I am connected with the performing arts. So, I am a natural attraction to people looking for funding in that respect!” She continued by explaining how she supports the arts through her own 272

personal money, that is the money she earns as an academic and writer, rather than the significant family wealth to which she is connected. Some of what she outlined could be described as consumption philanthropy. For example, she mentioned a couple of obviously elite projects: “an exhibition at the Guggenheim … a Zubin Mehta concert in

Bombay.” She also described, however, supporting promising young musicians through a conservatory education and buying works from promising young artists. Of those whom she assisted sending to conservatories (these are overseas, there being none in

India) she explained, “… even if one comes back to India ... I’ll be so happy. And if they start teaching, themselves, I’ll be even happier. Maybe they’ll be failed concert pianists on the world stage [laughing] but they’ll be teaching the next generation”. This statement is a good example of what in Schervish’s terms is the “honourable prototype of motivation” (Schervish 2008: 168) in consumption philanthropy. Parizad’s strong identification with the arts leads to the needs of others being met.

Support for traditional crafts

Another example of what might be seen as consumption philanthropy acting as motivation for something which has benefits for others is found in the enthusiasm of

Shaila for the Indian traditional crafts sector. Shaila is by marriage a member of a wealthy industrial family. Rather than allowing herself to become immersed in a world that could easily have afforded her leisure, she chose the path of working as a volunteer, first in schools; and, subsequently with a nonprofit Crafts Council. After a period of initiation and training, Shaila was asked by the other volunteer members to step into the role of Secretary, effectively the chief executive of the Crafts Council. She has remained in that role for 15 years. Her enthusiasm—she says “love” —for the handicrafts, largely weaving, provides a motivation. The craftspeople themselves, and

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their families she describes, however, as “the poorest of the poor.” A defining moment in her understanding of her work came when at a conference she attended, some children of the craftsmen were introduced and asked to talk about themselves. “The underlying theme of where they came from was so much poverty. It was so heartbreaking”, she said, “I came back saying, ‘My God, whatever we are doing is just not enough. There is so much more that’s required’.” She has now decided, she said, to branch out from the

Council and to set up some independent projects which she hopes she can scale up, using, she says, her family’s position and corporate connections.

Alumni giving to elite private schools

The previous section made references to consumption philanthropy in relation to giving to the arts. This section deals with instances which participants recounted that could also be similarly described as they represent giving to institutions from which the donors and their families have benefited. These involve two participants, and two of their stories relate to the same school, Doon, of which they are alumni. Ahan mentioned contributing an amount to a gift to the school that his “batch”120 was raising. Prahbu explained giving, from the family trust, a scholarship to the school and also to his sister’s school. Ahan also told a story about how he had gone to some lengths to provide his old school with a space for an art gallery and would have provided the art to fill it yet was rebuffed by the school leadership to his annoyance. 121

120 The term “batch” is used in India as a reference to a class or year at an educational institute.

121 In the story as he told it he advised the school architect, who was also an alumnus, how to include such a gallery space in an already planned new school building.

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Prahbhu added to his account a further example of how his father had recently donated towards the completion of a “boys’ wing” at the school in Shimla122 at which he spent his first school years after his family had been ejected from their ancestral lands by Partition in 1947. Prabhu concluded, “… there’s a plaque outside and he’s very happy with that, he’s been able to do something for the institution that actually where he got his first education as well”.

Chapter summary

This chapter suggests that, in the very areas that elite Western philanthropists are most considered to be acting in a self-serving manner, the philanthropic support that participants described for higher education and culture was to a large degree altruistic. Certain exceptions were noted. Two participants indicated support for research that very likely benefited their business interests. Three described giving to the elite private schools they had attended. One participant described sponsoring two programs featuring international elite artists; another gave to elite international universities as well as leading institutes in India. Two other participants supported chairs at leading Indian universities.

Other participants described their involvement in creating new private tertiary institutions in India, an initiative which private funders are encouraged to undertake by the Indian Government. Generally accepted categorisations (Brennan 2004; Trow 1973) would not describe these private institutions as designed for the elite. There is, in any case, a high probability that the immediate families of their funders travel overseas for

122 The school referred to is Auckland House School http://www.aucklandhouseschool.com one of the top schools in India.

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their university education. Only three participants talked about their support for culture. One of these described some support for elite culture but otherwise supports local artists. The other two are concerned with local provision, in one case providing support for crafts made by “the poorest of the poor”.

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DISTINCTIVE ELEMENTS OF INDIAN PHILANTHROPY

Introduction

This final chapter of findings discusses specific patterns of philanthropy that can be considered distinctively Indian. These particular patterns continue to provide support to the hypothesis that, in contrast with the West, Indian elite philanthropy is altruistic, is not provided to organisations from which the elite derive benefit for themselves or their families, and done without expectation of reciprocity.

This first section explores statements in interviews that relate to South

Asian concepts—which were discussed in Chapters Three and Four—of dãn

(Section 3.2.2)and karma (Section 4.2) and the Gandhian concept of trusteeship (Section 4.8).

A second section discusses certain aspects of specific business related philanthropy described by participants and maintains the proposition that this activity can also be considered as weak or impure altruism as discussed in Chapter Three (Section 3.4.1) though, nonetheless, altruistic.

Dãn, karma and trusteeship

This section proposes that three distinctively Indian institutions, dãn, karma and trusteeship shape distinctive Indian patterns of philanthropy.123

123 Institution is used here in the sense that an institution is of one of “the more enduring features of social life” (Giddens 1984: 23).

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An indication of this proposition was provided by Ahan answering the question of what philanthropy meant to him:

You know, I think it’s quite an Indian thing that giving is a part of everyday life, and it’s also part of our culture. And giving to the less privileged and giving to … whether you give it because of religious reasons. Or you give it because of assuaging one’s own guilt. Or the fact that you’re not spending that much time with the underprivileged? So, I think that’s, erm ... it’s built in the Indian fabric pretty much

He continued, making a specific reference to Gandhi:

I mean we were the first post-Gandhian generation. So, you know we didn’t grow up with the same ideals that possibly our parents did, you know, who were around at that time of Indian Independence and stuff. But yet the stories were not second hand. So you know of not wasting food on your plate. And also, the disparity in India was just so much that would stare you in the face every day.

Dãn

No participant spoke specifically of altruism, but a small number of participants referred to dãn which, as discussed in Chapter Three, is historically non-reciprocal and disinterested.

One example of this association of dãn with philanthropy, from the research interviews, occurred when Kundan tied selflessness, a concept which is akin to altruism, together with philanthropy and dãn. The passage went:

Interviewee: I think philanthropy, actually, is a very Indian value, which is very deeply ingrained in us. Interviewer: Yeah. Interviewee:...then, wealth and knowledge has to be shared. That is the concept of the Indian old ... Hindu and Indian values. Because it is really about a selfless concern for your community. Interviewer: Yeah. Interviewee: That is what we call maha dãn, which we say you have to think about ... don’t be selfish. You got to give back to your

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community. You’ve got to think about those less fortunate than you. If you have been blessed with some good fortune ...

The use of the specific “maha dãn” by Kundan is noteworthy as it connotes a particular type of giving by ancient elites. Heim (2004) and Dirks

(1993) describe maha dãn as royal gifts; whereas, Brick (2009: 24) refers to these as “Great Gifts”. Agarwal (2010) explains that sixteen maha dãn can be considered royal gifts and can only be given by people of great means; and, ten other maha dãn can be given by people of lesser means. Whether Kundan was using the term in this historic sense or simply loosely is a curiosity. As

Agarwal (2010) suggests, despite an enormous amount of literature on dãn most of its intricacies are unknown even among practising Hindus.

Nonetheless, dãn is commonly used as a generic expression meaning charitable giving and was used by some participants in a similarly general, vernacular sense. For example, one of the philanthropoids interviewed said:

The word dãn in India is very big. And that dãn was always connected with religion, with doing good, with being good ... (Shaila)

She, however, added:

… it’s not translating. It’s not translating into the kind of change, or, the kind of handholding, or the kind of intervention the poorest sectors need (Shaila).

This last comment has echoes of comparable distinctions, often made in discussions of Western giving, between charity (or alms) and philanthropy

(Payton and Moody 2008). It also echoes the distinction made by Sundar

(2017) between charity and philanthropy (See Section 4.4). A philanthropist

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participant, Rashmi made a more explicit point which, for her, distinguished philanthropy from dãn. Dãn she said was:

... [a] personal thing. It was about your karma, as you an individual and because you had received … God has given you a lot of whatever … For whatever reason you had a lot, it was your duty to share forward … While the word philanthropy means love for humankind, philanthropy to me began to represent a political idea that wealth has to be deployed to change the condition of society (Rashmi).

Karma

Karma, referred to above by Rashmi, relates to the concepts of action or deed, and in dharmic scripture is considered to be a law of nature

(Muniapan and Raj 2014). Karma is sometimes misunderstood as fate, but a person is able to affect karma as, according to dharmic scriptures, “... if one sows goodness, one will reap goodness; if one sows evil, one will reap evil”

(Muniapan and Raj 2014: 341).

As suggested above by Rashmi, the concept of karma is interrelated with dãn. The participant who described this most clearly was Ajay, who said:

So even in India, in the Hindu philosophy… the Hindu philosophy is that giving to charity helps your karma and helps you in rebirth … your birth, so, therefore, you will have a better chance of doing better next birth. So, therefore, it’s good for your karma to give charity.

Ajay, in a comment immediately following the passage above, linked this brief discussion of karma with a second thought, when he added:

So, the tradition of charity has always been there, number one. So, the thing is that … so a lot of families who have made money in India tend to start their own private charitable foundations. Like my own family, we started up the [Name] Trust Fund, which was a private family trust.

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Another participant, Anup, suggested his understanding of karma, in contradistinction to the point made above by Muniapan and Raj (2014), that associated karma with fate. He said, “Unfortunately, in a country as diverse as

India, you know, the womb you choose is the life you get, and that’s not up to you. Some people say it’s karma, some people say destiny …”

Nonetheless, both Anup and Rashmi agree that karma is dependent on actions. Rashmi spoke of the duty to “share forward”. The equivalent comment from Anup was:

And I say, we must do whatever we can to try and give an equal opportunity in some shape or form, in two or three sectors that I believe are critical (Anup).

Anup, though, also suggested that there is a cruder, more popular understanding of karma as a sort of barter:

It’s a barter in exchange of [sic] getting something, so you give. Right, so the Indian mindset, the way it says, “God, if you make me pass in my exams, I’ll give you 100 bucks,” you know, or, “If I crack this deal tomorrow … that business, I’m going to donate 10% of it to charity.” So, I think it’s a barter system and it’s also a way of cleansing one’s conscience to a large extent (Anup).

Another philanthropoid interviewed, Sanjay, described, in similar terms, how somebody might “... go and put $10,000 [in the collection receptacle in a religious temple] … wink at God or Jesus or Krishna. ‘I have done my dãna. Okay. I look after you.’

That’s what happens.”

Anup, however, also pointed out that, in his view, “… that this

[bartered] money could actually change society [yet] people don’t think that

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way”. Anup’s view echoes the thought Shaila expressed above, that dãn is not translating into the change that society needs.

Trusteeship

The concept trusteeship has a particular resonance in India because of its close association with Gandhi (See Section 4.8). The concept was referred to by participants in a number of ways, though not necessarily using the word trusteeship. Anup, for example, made the following statement about his values and upbringing, in the context of his previous comments about karma and “giving”:

I think [the tradition of giving he inherited has] a lot to do with the value system at home. To be born into a family that realises that what you have is only temporary and it can be taken away at any point in time. And that what you have has been given to you for a reason and you must make the most of it. Not by accumulating more and more but by sharing as much as you can. [Researcher’s emphasis]. (Anup).

Arvind, who referred to Gandhi specifically as an influence on him, articulated a logic of trusteeship by saying, “… that we are really trustees of our wealth. I mean, we are ephemeral beings, we’re going to go away … we’re not going to take it away with us. So, you’d rather do something …” Later, referring directly to his own good fortune, having accumulated considerable wealth, he said:

Money also is a powerful tool that can be used for good. It doesn’t need to corrupt you as long as you can control yourself and your needs. So, for me, I don’t have a need, to be honest with the point. And so, I’m really a trustee for that wealth, because I’d rather give it back to the society (Arvind).

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Parizad, who by marriage is a senior member of one of the wealthiest industrial dynasties in India noted for its philanthropy. She spoke in the context of giving of “… whatever we’ve inherited, we are only custodians”.

The influence of Gandhi on the elite

The direct influence of Gandhi on some participants was illustrated by their description of historic relationships with him and the Independence movement which Gandhi personified. Bottomore (1993) has described the nexus between the doctrines and moral influence of Gandhi and the emerging

Nationalist business elite. That this influence continues to be significant on members of the elite today is apparent from participants who talk of the relationship their families had with Gandhi. Other participants indicated how his ideas resonated with them and inclined their thoughts.

Parizad, for example, spoke of a previous generation of her family by marriage:

One of the two brothers immediately gave to Gandhiji’s fund for the untouchables. Nobody would give … No Hindu would give to the fund for the untouchables. But he … they gave it. Our family gave it (Parizad).

She later further explained the family connection with Gandhi:

My late grandfather-in-law’s brother was a barrister with … at the same time … with Gandhi. And they actually went to South Africa together, to be practising lawyers (Parizad).

Among other participants, Rashmi described her father’s father, like Gandhi, a lawyer, responding to Gandhi’s call for people to come and help in the Champaran

Satyagraha, the first Nationalist civil disobedience agitation of India in 1917, by joining

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him there. Another participant, Prasad explained how his mother was a “… granddaughter of Mr GD Birla, who was one of Gandhi’s biggest financiers”. Another participant, Ragini also described having a direct relationship with the circle of the leaders of India’s Independence, including Gandhi, through her father who served in the first Indian cabinet after Independence.

Other participants, slightly younger than those already cited in this section, also referred to the influence on them of Gandhi. Arvind, who was quoted on trusteeship above, acknowledged the influence that reading Gandhi when very young had on his thinking saying, “I was quite influenced by some of his, sort of, salient philosophy and ideas”. He added, providing an illustration of the effect of models and experiences from youth that, “My dad is still that kind of person … for me, in a sense he was a living role model because Gandhi was a little bit more abstract you know”.

Another participant, Ahan, who is of the same generation as Arvind, discussing how giving was “built into the Indian fabric pretty much” also stated:

Yet another participant of the same generation described an indirect

Gandhian influence on his own philanthropic direction. He explained:

My grandfather was a great ... he was a great inspiration. In fact, he was a classic ... you know there’s actually a term that Gandhi used, called “simple living, high thinking”.

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Delara, though unrelated to Gandhi himself, explained a different influence of the Nationalist period of which Gandhi was a leading figure. She was describing the Tata family, of whom she is an affinal relation. She referred to the JN Tata Endowment, which was founded in 1892: My God, where did these people think so well in advance? Especially Dorabji Tata. He was actually very influenced by Sidney Webb…the whole Fabian society business … And, he was a very good friend of Gokhale, an Indian thinker … [phrase unclear ] he was one of the original freedom fighters.

In 1917 the English social reformers, Sidney and Beatrice Webb had been asked by Sir Dorabji Tata, the son of JN (Jamsetji) Tata, to advise on providing social welfare, medical and other services for the workers and families in Jamshedpur, the home of

Tata Steel (Lala 1992, 2004).

The responses of the Indian elite to poverty

There was not one among the philanthropists interviewed that did not express experience of the reality of poverty in India. The Persian US philanthropist Pierre

Omidyar provided an eloquent description of an elite which is unable to avoid the reality of poverty around them: “The way a wealthy banker walks on the same sidewalk in Mumbai along which a poor family with no clothes uses gutter water to wash themselves in India is unique” (Pawar 2011). Prasad offered a close match to this when he explained:

You have an India which is a multiple speed India. You could have a meal at the Oberoi hotel in Mumbai or the Taj Hotel in Mumbai for £100 a head 135 plus, plus. And you step out and you have people who are not even on five dollars a day (Prasad).124

124 This curious mixing of two currencies is probably explained by Prasad's cosmopolitan life as head of an international business. Dollars presumably meant American dollars.

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Ragunathan, who had been a banker before being enticed into the corporate foundation he now heads, remarked when discussing this reality,

“This kind of contrast probably puts a sense of guilt into you ... You know if you have a conscience it cannot but be stirred”.

The result described by others is a sense of responsibility. “If have so much, then I need to … then, in some ways, I am responsible for society,” is how Shaila expressed it. “If we don’t do it, who will?” asked Parizad, as already quoted in Chapter Eight (Section 8.2.7): “It’s not our job to do it, but if you don’t do it who will do it? They’ll die”.

Giving without expectation of reciprocity

The philanthropic activities as described by participants and reported in this chapter—the participants support for projects aimed at the remediation of poverty and not for the benefit of the philanthropists’ own family or class—are not apparently undertaken in the expectation of any immediate tangible return. In the majority of cases it would be difficult to see what form, tangible or intangible, reciprocity could take. In a minority of cases there are indications of intangible benefits to the corporate interests of the participant or his or her family.

As discussed in Chapter Three and elsewhere, dãn is a word used in India more in literature—including NGO related literature and the press—than in everyday English language discourse. It was used by only four participants during interview of which two instances were prompted by the interviewer introducing the term in a question. Giving, giving back, charity, philanthropy and even alms were more commonly used terms to describe the topic being discussed. It is, nonetheless, recognised as an appropriate descriptor of philanthropic or charitable giving. 286

Karma, an intangible benefit recognisably associated with dãn (Bornstein 2006;

Bornstein 2012; Brick 2009; Copeman 2011; Eck 2013; Heim 2004; Laidlaw 1995;

Laidlaw 2000; Parry 1986; Parry and Bloch 1989; Sundar 2002) was acknowledged

indirectly by a small number of participants. Both dãn and karma are components of a

broader concept—dharma (Anand 2004; Rolnick 1962; Sen 1999; Singh 2002;

Srivastava et al. 2004; Sundar 2002). Dharma, along with artha (wealth), and karma

(desire, emotional pursuits), is considered one of the three chief aims of life on earth.

Trautmann (1981), however, cleverly notes, that the brahmanical literature from which

these terms are drawn, as well as its academic study, relates to ‘soteriology’—a branch

of theology—not a ‘sociology’. The significance of dharma in the popular imagination,

though, cannot be too readily discounted given the symbolic wheel of dharma sits in the

centre of the Indian flag.

As discussed in Chapter Four, recent scholarship discussing dãn in its

contemporary context, has taken a normative view that dãn is non-reciprocal—that is,

giving without the expectation of return (Anand 2004; Bornstein 2006; Bornstein 2012;

Brick 2009; Copeman 2011; Eck 2013; Giddens 1971; Heim 2004; Snodgrass 2001).

Participants gave other indications suggesting their philanthropy was not

strongly motivated by any expectation of reciprocal benefit, nor even recognition. Ajit,

for example, though he had earlier indicated that he was giving around 50% of his

earnings from investments explained he was reluctant to talk publicly about his

personal financial contribution:

I like to keep it personal actually. I mean … Forbes125 actually interviewed me for the Philanthropist of the Year. And they asked me. So, I actually kept quiet, I said, I do some

125 Forbes Asia publishes an ‘Annual Heroes of Philanthropy List.’

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personal giving, but it is minuscule. Because you know, it’s too personal to me to talk about, you know, as to what I do (Ajit).

Nandan, who had described a number of very large philanthropic gifts, and some

of whose philanthropy is occasionally reported in the media, explained that he had

declined a request from Bill Gates to lead the Giving Pledge initiative in India. He

explained in interview:

I told Bill, I said no. Philanthropy is something that is very private, therefore, I don’t want to talk about it and all of that.

Business related philanthropy

The discussion in this section specifically relates to descriptions and

explanations given by participants about philanthropy closely connected with the

businesses which they control. The section will explore two cases related to the concept

of licence to operate. It will examine a model of hospital related philanthropy with which

two participants are involved. Finally, it will discuss how parts of participants’

narratives conform to concepts of weak altruism and impure altruism.

Licence to operate

This section deals with two narratives by participants, Ragunathan and Prasad

where they also gave evidence of business benefits arising from the philanthropy they

described. In these cases, the activity is linked to family managed corporate foundations

and such philanthropy is managed with a business problem in view.

This it is suggested is consistent with the notion of their corporate philanthropy

having as its intentions both the acquisition of a licence to operate (Salzmann et al.

2006) while remaining part of an Indian altruistic tradition of philanthropy (Agarwal

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2008; Birla 2013; Chanana 2011; Gautam and Singh 2010; Ramachandran and Jha 2009;

Subbiah 2013).

Ragunathan, who is the executive head rather than a family member associated with a family-corporate philanthropic trust, made it clear that the philanthropy he described focused on the sites directly impacted by the family corporation’s construction and development projects.

The other example of business philanthropy undertaken with a business problem in view was described by Prasad and provided an even clearer focus on its business motivation. The story was heard first by the researcher at the Asian Venture

Philanthropy Network (AVPN) 2013 Conference126 the researcher attended, where the participant was a speaker, and was later confirmed by him in interview. As Prasad first described it, at the conference, a killing outside one of the family’s factory gates led to

“serious soul searching”.

It so happens that two examples of corporate philanthropy that Prasad and

Ragunathan respectively spoke of in interview are also both discussed by

Ramachandran and Jha (2009) in a paper which traces the philanthropy of family owned Indian corporations to its traditional roots. While noting that today corporate philanthropy has expanded and is more likely to be managed by professionals (of which

Ragunathan is an example), Ramachandran and Jha (2009: 5) note, “Business families, for instance, do not focus only on achieving sustainable financial growth, but also on

126 AVPN (Asia Venture Philanthropy)2013 Conference in Singapore 9-10 May 2013, Singapore; see https://avpn.asia/event/avpn-annual-conference-2013/

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contributing a part of their income for social good … what is noteworthy is that the fundamental premise of philanthropy—its motto of service—continues as before”.

In the first case above, Ragunathan was quite explicit in his narrative about the corporation consciously leaving “local footprints”. In the second,

Prasad described (both at the conference the researcher attended and again in the research interview) a belief akin to what is described by Bhushan

(1983: 1744) as “… the employers’ belief that a thrifty and stable family-life leads to stable work behaviour in the factory.”

The unrest that resulted in the violent episode recounted above had its roots in the extreme poverty prevalent in 1970s rural Bihar, the state in which the factory was located. Those fortunate enough to gain employment in the factory were the object of envy and resentment by many of their village neighbours who were living in extreme poverty and led to many violent clashes between the “haves and have nots”. The corporate philanthropy of that family owned corporation began then, in the 1970s, as a direct result of that soul searching. It has since evolved into wide ranging program of initiatives in education, health and education in—according to the program’s website—278 villages, supported by the corporation and external agencies including the World Bank and USAID.

The program the family company developed after the shooting was explained at the AVPN conference as a “holistic” intervention involving, at that time, 150 villages around the business’s plant which is in the poorest state in India. The use, by Prasad, of the term holistic refers to a principle

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whereby eight different components of village activity are supported and monitored. These were listed on a slide shared with the researcher and also reported in a newspaper, as being: “natural resources management, education, renewable energy, livelihood, women’s empowerment, capacity building, resource mobilisation, infrastructure development, and health, nutrition and sanitation” (Sen 2013). “Social capital, human capital” was the phrase Prasad used to encapsulate these activities at the conference.

Ensuring the education, health and other social elements of the villages around the business plant through such a program undoubtedly enhances the business’s reputation and ensures access to a suitable workforce.

Another participant, Rahul, described a major program of managing schools in rural villages which, given the family corporation’s telecom business activity covers all of urban and rural India, makes it seem reasonable to speculate would potentially ensure a spread of awareness of the firm’s primary business. No suggestion has been discovered or was made by the participant that this program was commenced because of a specific business problem. Nonetheless, the program similarly, is consistent with the notion of business philanthropy enhancing the business licence to operate while remaining part of an Indian altruistic tradition.

The Narayana Health Model

A further example of business philanthropy also deserves some closer analysis. Kundan and Amit are reported in Chapter Nine describing how each supported provision of healthcare to the poor through projects that adopted the Narayana Health model (See Section11.2.2). Precisely where this model 291

of subsidised hospital provision fits within normative explanations of philanthropy merits discussion. In academic literature this particular model has been described as charitable (Khanna et al. 2005), and a social enterprise

(Bhattacharyya et al. 2010; Desai 2014). In a press article, it is described as philanthropic (Levy 2012).

Yet the recent criticism directed at Facebook founder, Mark

Zuckerberg and his wife Priscilla Chan for using a corporate for profit structure to administer their philanthropy highlights a normative challenge

(for example, Callahan 2017).

The evidence from the academic and press literature cited above is that an intention of the NH pricing model is to make specialist healthcare affordable to the poor. The company listing for Narayana Hrudayalaya Ltd on the Economic Times (2015) website details accolades such as outstanding contribution through CSR programs by the CSR Thought Leadership

Conclave, organised by Wockhardt Foundation; an award under the category

CSR/Environment the Financial Times Arcelor Mittal Boldness in Business; and a philanthropy award by Forbes India (Economic Times website). Adding to the argument for it to be regarded as altruistic is that there are longstanding traditions in the history of Indian philanthropy around providing medical attention to the poor. Therefore, it seems reasonable to describe this project as fitting the historic sense of philanthropy in India and proposing that it fits within the broad parameters described in the next two sections of this chapter discussing ‘weak altruism’ and ‘impure altruism’.

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Atkinson’s weak altruism

This section will argue that in addition to the narrative above about

NH, the others conform to the weak altruism first expounded by Atkinson

(1990):

What is distinct about my donors is not that they give without gain, but that any satisfaction they derive from giving is not in the form of a material quid pro quo for their donation (Atkinson 1990: 529-532).

Turning first to the NH model, where disadvantaged patients obtain medical services through the model’s cross-subsidisation principle, the conformity with Atkinson’s model is clear. Atkinson describes this type as

Type Seven ‘Commercial Entrepreneurials [sic] Operated for Patrons’ Benefit’

(Atkinson 1990: 543) and he gives among his examples “health care, education, and care for the young and the elderly”. He was writing in the context, of US corporate structures of the 1990s.127 Nowadays the existence of companies with hybrid for profit and not-for-profit objectives is common.

As well as NH, the social enterprise approach to higher education described by Ajay, and the business model providing solutions to the challenges of managing water explained by Lionel provide examples. In these cases, the enterprises described benefit the disadvantaged through providing services at “below-market prices subsidized by forgone profits” (Atkinson 1990: 554).

The participants’ explanations of their enterprises indicate that they each

127 The context has changed in the US and elsewhere since. In particular, the notion of a social enterprise or a ‘B Corp’ did not then exist.

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make a sacrifice in money or money’s worth without material reward

(Atkinson 1990: 554).

In their contexts, the philanthropy or CSR activities of family controlled businesses described by participants, and in particular in the case of Prasad but also as described by Ragunathan above or Pallavi (who in

Chapter Eight described skilling the men in villages around the family’s factories), seem like what Atkinson (1990) has described as Type Five,

‘Donor Control for Their Own Benefit’. He explains this Type by suggesting:

The apparent problem of donors materially benefitting from their donations is resolved if the organization either provides public goods or provides private goods on a “socialized” basis (Atkinson 1990: 538).

The examples he gives drawn from the US corporate context are not exactly analogous. He suggests, for example, that this type is typical of (i) listener-sponsored radio, or (ii) needy congregants receiving churches’ relief without regard to their contributions (Atkinson 1990: 538). His paper, however, was not provided to answer a problem related to corporate, even less family owned and controlled corporate philanthropy. The paper is focused exclusively on nonprofits and was concerned with the context and justification for their tax treatment.

Atkinson (1990: 552) only mentions corporate related philanthropy in passing as, for example, when he describes Carnegie “placing organs in dozens of Presbyterian churches”. Atkinson’s weak altruism seems consistent, nonetheless, with the discussion by Schervish and Havens (1997) in Chapter

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Three of altruism (See Section 3.4.2), which builds on contributions by

Becker (1976) and Simmons (1991) to emphasise the importance of examining altruism as an economic and sociological phenomenon.

Andreoni’s warm glow and impure altruism

Another conceptual framework can be applied where there are seeming intangible or immaterial benefits obtained by the participants. It has been described as “warm glow” or “impure altruism” (Andreoni 1989;

Andreoni 1990).

Some participants refer to feelings of pleasure that philanthropy brings them. Anup encapsulated this, “Somebody said it very nicely, that giving makes you feel good ... it’s selfish. So be selfish. Because it makes you feel good.” Ashim, expressed this in similar terms, “I think I’m quite selfish in my

… in my giving because I’m very clear that whatever I have done … and whatever I do, there’s a joy and a satisfaction that I get from it.” These descriptions are similar to what (Andreoni 1989; Andreoni 1990) and several others (see Bekkers and Wiepking (2011a; 2011b) for other citations) have described as warm glow.

Suman’s explained his own similar warm glow. In this case, it was as though it was he, not those whom the philanthropic benefit was ostensibly aimed at, that gained the most:

Commitment is there … to do it you know, whatever is the best possible way. Because … not for society but I enjoy it, I feel satisfied, I feel happy about it. It’s not ... it is again for the selfish reason. And it is not coming out of that, okay, I’m ... we’re doing something good for

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someone. It is more to the selfish and I’m feeling good about it … or not, in all those things (Suman).

In this case, the entire staff of the investment firm which Suman and his brother runs, are engaged in their philanthropy in various ways. During interview he explained how employees get involved with house building projects for Habitat for Humanity. He also explained how, sometimes, children of itinerant workers who provide labour on construction societies— clients of another charity the firm supports—are brought to the office and hosted by the entire team. In both cases, the benefits he suggests are for his staff as well as the ostensible primary beneficiaries of both these charities:

And that’s the best way even for the organisation also to take everybody along together—on the right values. You know, family also, with children and everyone has to ... taking on the right values. So that’s the biggest advantage of doing such things. Where you can do like, three days party in Las Vegas also. But at the same time, if you’re doing three days building house in Karjat, that … outcome of that is far more superior … as in values and everything, it’s far more superior.

There is here, also, a whiff of the parentalism (Atkinson 1990)128 introduced in Chapter Three (Section 3.4.1); and, an example of weak altruism, a benefit related to the business—Suman’s “right values” being taken on by staff of the organisation because they participate in philanthropic activities. These are philanthropic activities expected of the staff, or at least encouraged of them, as employees and the benefit is being described by the business owner as one to his staff.

128 Atkinson prefers parentalism to paternalism in part to avoid the latter term’s connotations of officious meddling (See Karl and Katz, 1987), but mostly to be gender-neutral.

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Summary

This chapter analyses patterns in the narratives of participants that are consistent with the South Asian concept of dãn—as a form of giving without expectation of reciprocity. It also finds patterns consistent with the concept of trusteeship, as espoused by Gandhi, as well as indications of the influence of Gandhi on participants in other ways.

In some cases, participants described philanthropic actions undertaken via corporate structures that suggested corporate benefit. In other cases, participants acknowledged the existence of intangible reciprocity. In the former cases, what was described seemed to be consistent with the typology explained by Atkinson (1990) as weak altruism; in the latter case the experience of something akin to a “warm glow” seemed consistent with the impure altruism of Andreoni (1989); Andreoni (1990).

These findings continue to support the hypothesis that a distinguishing feature of the Indian elite’s approach to philanthropy is one that can be characterised accurately as altruism. Their goals and intentions were other directed and undertaken without expectation of reciprocity as discussed in Chapter Three.

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SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION

Introduction

The hypothesis for this research that there is a distinct practice of philanthropy by the Indian elite that is shaped by India’s own history and traditions is found to be true.

Elite Indian philanthropy can be characterised as primarily altruistic: it is directed at others and undertaken without expectation of reciprocity. In their interviews, elite philanthropists mostly described actions which were directly related to alleviating poverty and its effects. This included support for primary, secondary and technical education; health care for the poor; and, standard of living issues such as the basic and immediate needs of the most impoverished, the natural and physical challenges the poor face, and programs designed to ensure their employment and promote their empowerment.

This concluding chapter summarises and ties together the major themes of this research which investigated the hypothesis above. The research fills a gap in the empirical study of elite philanthropy, a study which had been confined to philanthropy informed by Christian (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Lloyd 2004; Odendahl 1990; Ostrower

1995; Panas 2019 [1984]; Prince and File 1994; Schervish and Havens 2001b, 2002;

Schervish and Herman 1988; Schervish et al. 2001) and Judaic (Schmid et al. 2009;

Shimoni 2008) norms and traditions The present research explores a practice of philanthropy which has its early roots in dharmic custom enriched by Islamic and Parsi traditions and later influenced by Western norms, then regulations imposed under

British rule.

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No work of comparable scale has been done for countries or regions whose norms and traditions are neither Christian nor Judaic. Nor, as the review of existing literature in Chapter Two shows, has there previously been qualitative research into the philanthropy of the Indian elite which has drawn extensively on elite philanthropists as informants.

This thesis uses a theoretical framework presented under the heading of moral citizenship, drawn from a body of theory which Schervish and his colleagues explain as moral citizenship of care (Schervish 2006, 2014a; Schervish and Havens 2002; Schervish and Whitaker 2010). This theorisation is proposed by Schervish as the most fruitful way to identify the social and psychological structures that mobilise the actions of philanthropists as individual agents. The methods used to apply and draw on this conceptual framework comprised long interviews in which participants were given free rein to talk about their philanthropic activity in their own terms. This approach is consistent with the qualitative research into the Western elite philanthropy cited above.

When analysed, the data obtained from the Indian participants’ narratives were congruent with the framework and theoretical concepts underpinning the moral citizenship of care framework.

The conclusion that Indian philanthropy is directed at others and undertaken without expectation of reciprocity is in marked contrast with both qualitative (Odendahl

1990; Ostrower 1995) and quantitative studies (for example, Coutts & Co 2016a; Coutts

& Co 2016b; McLeod 2018) (See Appendix B for analysis of quantitative studies) of the philanthropy of the Western elite, which indicate their philanthropy as being primarily supportive of cultural institutions, hospitals and universities that appear to benefit the elite itself. The studies of wealthy philanthropists undertaken by Schervish and

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colleagues discover a pattern of support for causes, institutions and organisations from which donors families and their social networks benefit, they use the term consumption philanthropy to identify it (Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Schervish 1992, 2000a, 2003,

2008; Schervish and Herman 1988). This particular view is also widely reflected in related academic discussion (Auten et al. 2000; Clotfelter 1992; Murphy and Nagel

2002; Reich 2006, 2013a, 2018a; Wolpert 2006; Zunz 2012) and popular commentaries such as by Callahan (2017) and Giridharadas (2018).

The theoretical contribution offered by this research is a validation that research models developed by Schervish and colleagues can be applied to non-Western philanthropy. The major empirical contribution offered is evidence of patterns of elite

Indian philanthropy which are more altruistic and less self-serving than those identified in the West.

The Principal institutions of philanthropy

This thesis identifies four principal institutions influencing the practice of Indian elite philanthropy. 129 These are the dharmic concept of dãn as a way of giving, Gandhi’s notion of trusteeship, the long established tradition of endowments, and the normative practice of business philanthropy and CSR.

Dãn

First among these key institutions is that identified as dãn. A conclusion of this thesis is that the philanthropy described by participants is influenced by a normative understanding of dãn as a non-reciprocal gift. This proposition is made despite actual

129 Institution is used in the sense that an institution is of one of “the more enduring features of social life” Giddens, A. 1984. The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press.

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usage of the word dãn in interviews was in general context rather than specifically to describe participants’ own actions. Instead, this proposition is based on the evidence from interviews that the practice of philanthropy described by participants was other directed and largely without any expectation of direct tangible return. Failure by participants to articulate this as dãn—in any case, an imprecise and ambiguous term— does not in the view of this present research negate the apparent prevalence of non- reciprocal giving. In short, the non-reciprocity of giving is embedded within the

“sedimentation of institutional forms” (Giddens 1979: 7) that influences the practice of philanthropy. It is enacted normatively without the need of actors referring to it by its signifier dãn.

The scholarship around the history and meaning of dãn supports this proposition. In particular, the recent ethnography of Bornstein (2006, 2012) and

Copeman (2009, 2011), shows how articulations of dãn are embedded in contemporary social practice in India. Dãn is a part of the contemporary vernacular and the word is used in English conversation and media in India as a synonym for charity or philanthropy (Bornstein 2006, 2012; Copeman 2011; Kapoor and Sharma 2000).

Much within the rich body of academic scholarship relating to dãn draws on a finding concerning the non-reciprocity of dãn by Mauss, which he states in a footnote to be the sole exception to his theory of The Gift (Mauss 2002 [1950]: 179-180, n61). Three case studies involving members of the Indian elite that Bornstein (2012) presents notably emphasise the non-reciprocity of the actions of her participants. Other scholars discussing dãn in its contemporary context in India have taken this same view that that dãn is normatively non-reciprocal—that is, given without the expectation of return

(Bornstein 2006, 2012; Copeman 2011; Eck 2013). This thesis finds that the practice of

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philanthropy described by participants reinforces the theorisation of Hénaff (2003),

Michaels and Pierce (1997) and (1998) concerning the non-reciprocity of dãn, which is discussed in Chapter Three (Section 3.2.2).

Gandhi’s trusteeship

A combination of trusteeship and the influence of Gandhi emerged strongly from this research as an influence on the values and moral biographies motivating the philanthropy of participants. Unlike the sparing reference to dãn, many participants expressed terms and concepts that fit under the rubric of trusteeship; or, they made direct associations with Gandhi as an influence on their philanthropy.

Trusteeship draws from the principles of dharma whereby the acquisition of wealth is encouraged as a spiritual virtue and the rich are considered to have deserved their good fortune. Yet dharma requires wealth to be used for higher purpose. The concept is not unique to South Asia. It compares with a Western view expressed by

Carnegie as “the millionaire will be but a trustee for the poor” (Carnegie 2009 [1920]); and, Calvin as, “We are the stewards of everything God has conferred on us by which we are able to help our neighbor and are required to render account of our stewardship”

(McKim 2001: 83).

The salience of trusteeship as an institution is very likely because it gained acceptance among the Indian elite at a time when Indians were forming their

Nationalist political identity (Birla 2009). Its attractiveness was due to the way in which it construed wealth as being both religiously and politically acceptable. As Birla (2009) explains, the elite merchant families responded to the political and economic rationale of trusteeship during the Nationalist era because it re-modelled their traditional philanthropy as public. Its public manifestation through support for parks, bridges,

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universities, schools and libraries was acceptable to the British rulers while at the same time allowed many of them to align themselves with Gandhi and other Nationalist leaders (Bayly 1973, 1983; Haynes 1987, 1991; Rolnick 1962; Sundar 2013a). The continued salience of both trusteeship and Gandhi among the elite today was illustrated by participants’ describing their family’s historical connections to him, while others explained a direct influence on them from his writings.

Endowments and foundations

Another significant institution which influences elite philanthropy evident from this research is a tradition of endowments providing benefits to fulfil public needs.

Many of the participants to this research described endowments—in their more modern form, foundations or trusts—set up by grandparents or great-grandparents of which they are trustees today. Others—not only those whose wealth was new—talked of foundations which they had set up more recently. The types of foundation described were varied. There were those that were running foundations, managing an enterprise or activities; and there were others that were providing grants. Of these, there were those that were family entities; and there were those that were corporate foundations, even though, given that most business wealth is in family hands (Chapter One, Section

1.4), the corporate foundations were managed or directed by family members.

The norm of making and preserving enduring gifts for both public benefit and religious reasons has long been embedded in the structure of giving in India.

Endowments have a long history in dharmic society. Inscriptions show that endowment was practised from early Common Era (CE) times (Kane 1941; Majumdar 1920; Reddy and Natarajan 2011). The authoritative scholarship of Kane (1941) notes that, from ancient times, endowed gifts for the use of the public, such as those providing for water

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and irrigation, were regarded as more meritorious than gifts which were made for religious reasons. During the many centuries when Islamic rulers held various parts of

India, there was a pragmatic acceptance of the similarity between Muslim waqf and

Hindu endowment (as well as other traditional giving practices from both Islamic and dharmic cultures) which enabled both traditions to co-exist. Under the British the charitable purposes of traditional family gifting practices were recognised in new legislation.

Business philanthropy and CSR

Related to endowments is a fourth institution identified by this research, that of business philanthropy. Ramachandran and Jha (2009) state that family-corporate jugalbandi are the most common model of philanthropic organisation in India today.

These jugalbandi merge business and family philanthropy, usually being funded by the business and run by members of the business family.130 Every participant in the research, consistent with the nature of the Indian elite (Bottomore 1993; Mitra 1992) has a direct or indirect relationship with business. For those belonging to dynastic business families, philanthropy had been one of their models and experiences from youth, for others who had started their own businesses, business philanthropy emerged as their businesses grew.

Among the participants were some who had achieved what Schervish describes as the second stage of psychological empowerment—having built substantial principalities through business, they were now in the position to devote their

130 The use of jugalbandi, a duet of two solo musicians, was explained in Section 1.4).

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hyperagency to philanthropy. Others, still engaged with business, were closely involved in managing their family-corporate jugalbandi.

One new formality now influencing the philanthropy of some participants is

India’s new mandatory CSR legislation requiring the contribution of two per cent of average profits to certain defined social causes (Government of India 2013a). Most of the business owning participants indicated a relaxed attitude to the proposed law, some already running programs eligible for inclusion under the Act. Not all business philanthropy is eligible. One stipulation is that spending is focused on programs in the local areas around their business operations. Not all activities described by those practising philanthropy through their business foundations were proximate or related to their businesses. Their attitude, nonetheless, seemed to be that their own businesses would need to make little or no adjustment.

On the whole, therefore, it would seem that the prediction of Kassam et al.

(2016) that the family businesses of the elite were likely to be unconcerned by the Act was true. Business owning participants described well established social responsibility programs funded either through corporate, family foundations or both. None suggested making new arrangements. Some remarked that their programs are already contributing more than the mandatory 2%, as Dharmapala and Khanna (2018) and

Varottil (2018) have also found.

Causes supported

In ostensible contrast to empirical studies of Western elite philanthropists

(Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Lloyd 2004; Odendahl 1990; Ostrower 1995; Panas 2019

[1984]; Prince and File 1994; Scaife et al. 2011; Scaife et al. 2012), the Indian philanthropists interviewed described altruistic philanthropy—directed towards 305

services and causes for others; disassociated from those that might directly benefit the

Indian elite themselves. There were examples where philanthropy was more closely aligned with business goals and hence indicative of weak altruism (Atkinson 1990) which sought licence to operate (Salzmann et al. 2006) as a benefit. Regardless, most participants’ descriptions were of philanthropy focused on remediating the effects of poverty through education, the provision of healthcare and improving livelihoods. A small number talked of their support for higher education and research, culture and the arts. Yet they described these causes (and the institutions they supported) in terms of benefit to others rather than themselves or their families or peers.

In the US, in particular, much elite philanthropy is directed at institutions of higher education, hospitals and medical research and cultural institutions that are patronised by the elite themselves and their families (Auten et al. 2000; Clotfelter 1988;

Murphy and Nagel 2002; Odendahl 1990; Ostrander and Schervish 1990; Ostrower

1995; Reich 2006, 2013a, 2018a; Schervish 1992, 2000a; Schervish and Herman 1988;

Wolpert 2006; Zunz 2016). It is a contention of this thesis that this support for the poor and disadvantaged described by participants is exactly as should be expected, given the

“traditions and routinisation” (Giddens 1979: 7) and history of philanthropy (Moody and Breeze 2016) in India accounted for in Chapter Four of this research.

Schools and education

The research found that most participants described acting to improve the provision of primary and secondary education to the poor. The stories participants told related to addressing grassroots education issues quite unrelated to the elite school experiences of the participants themselves or their families. Their engagement with and resolution of the challenges of providing education were illustrative of their awareness

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and concern for others. Indications of obtaining advantages, such as profit for themselves or benefits for their families, communities or social class were absent. Their stories were strongly indicative of close and personal engagement and understanding of the challenges discussed.

Their actions were mainly directed towards schools providing education for children in both impoverished urban and rural settings; though, also included support for training teachers, curriculum development and for other resources for growing and strengthening the school sector. There was no generalisable approach by participants on whether to support public (i.e. government funded) or private schools. Some participants managed private schools that had been founded by their parents or grandparents. The two participants who supported a large number of schools were involved with both government schools, and private schools owned by their own foundations.

Health projects

The provision of health care for the poor was another area many participants described. The majority of those participants’ stories related to philanthropic activity intended to assist the poor, which did not offer any apparent benefit to the participants themselves. In other words, this area of philanthropy—as was their support for primary and secondary education—appeared altruistic, performed without any expectation of reciprocity. Their stories were about managing or funding hospitals, clinics and clinical outreach programs. As well, some described creating and managing programs or providing grants to deal with specific health issues and diseases.

The clinics and hospitals participants spoke about were facilities for the disadvantaged which offered services at low charges. Several participants talked about

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what they described as “nursing homes” or “small hospitals”. Other words used when explaining projects participants contributed to were “community health”, “health camps”, “immunisation”, “medical outreach”, “mobile vans”, and “preventative medicine”. Several initiatives for providing primary care in remote rural India were described, covering services that spanned the modern to the traditional—from using IT, to training and mobilising traditional healers.

Although the hospitals and clinics were explained as privately run, the explanations given of the low fees charged indicated that these were not run for participants’ financial benefit. Two participants were involved in supporting a program for providing access by the poor to clinical services within a large for profit hospital group, managed by Narayana Hrudyalaya (NH), a public limited company. Kundan’s narrative explained how the NH hospital she supported would not have been able to offer cancer treatment to the poor without the philanthropy she offered. Ashim explained how he personally, together with a philanthropic intermediary organisation with which he is involved, is supporting the development of a paediatric facility in a hospital owned by the NH group.

In only two instances did any participant describe any reason specifically related to their own immediate family or social network for supporting a health issue. Kundan told how the struggle of a friend to obtain affordable treatment for her cancer mobilised her support for NH. Pallavi explained how the cancer of her father led to her founding a charity to promote awareness in schools of the dangers of smoking.

Standard of living

A diverse range of projects and programs described by participants related to improving the living standards of those in poverty. Participants mostly explained these

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programs using examples and stories of agency that was oriented towards an other, clearly related to the poverty that they were acutely aware surrounds them; and enacted without any articulated expectation of reciprocity. The exceptions were stories of corporate philanthropy aimed at improving conditions for communities around the business operations of the participants.

There was not one participant among the philanthropists interviewed that did not articulate an understanding of the reality of poverty in India. Describing the responsibility of the wealthy to help the poor. To repeat Parizad, as quoted in Chapter

Eight (Section 8.2.7): “If we don’t do it, who will? It’s not our job to do it, but if you don’t do it who will do it? They’ll die”. The participants’ stories told of an awareness of poverty and the lives of the poor, that is mostly absent from reports of those interviewed for studies of elite philanthropy in the West (Breeze and Lloyd 2013; Lloyd

2004; Odendahl 1990; Ostrower 1995; Panas 2019 [1984]; Prince and File 1994; Scaife et al. 2011; Scaife et al. 2012). This awareness, as one participant explained (Chapter

Thirteen, Section 13.3), comes because though the elite might be able to enjoy a five-star meal at £100 [sic] a head in an Indian city, they step outside and find themselves among people not even earning five dollars [sic] a day.

The projects and programs described ranged from responses to emergency and immediate needs through to basic domestic issues of water, sanitation and housing; income generation related projects (skilling, vocational training, and adult education); schemes in rural areas for improving agricultural practices and non-agricultural income generating skills; numeracy and literacy projects specifically aimed at empowering women; and, (also largely directed at women) savings and loans programs and microfinance schemes intended to enable small business and other trading activities.

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As with the stories told about support for education and training by participants, most but not all the narratives concerning these programs for improving the living standards of the poor were such that it was clear that reciprocity was not a consideration. In many cases the activities described were in regions remote from any personal or business interests of the supporter.

Arul, for example, mostly told stories of the involvement of the foundation, funded and run by his brothers and him with the impoverished and marginalised

Musahar tribal people, known as Rat Eaters, in remote Bihar. Ashim and his wife also decided to focus much of their philanthropy in Bihar, a state to which they have no connection. Zahira and her husband are Mumbai dwellers with no family connection to rural India, yet their foundation is focused on villages 100km or more from the city, in rural Maharashtra. Ragini’s foundation supports water projects across South India. The relationship between the Delhi slum communities for which Amit’s family foundation has helped supply filtered water, literacy and numeracy training, and savings and loans schemes is only marginal, in that schools belonging to the foundation neighbour the slums.

There were, however, some descriptions that, it could be argued, did indicate reciprocal benefit to the providers of support. In these cases, the participants were business owners and often the programs they provided related to skilling or training.

One such example involved a family business that constructed and managed airport terminals across India, acquiring rural land in the process. Training in skills related to airports and transportation was provided through the owners’ foundation to the village people formerly dependent for their livelihoods as labourers or tenant farmers, on the erstwhile landholdings. This clearly provided mutual benefit to villagers and the

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business. Another participant, Pallavi, similarly described skilling up the population surrounding new factories that her family firm had set up. The newly skilled men, of course, were then able to work in those same factories.

In another example, Darsh told how he had set up a training academy to build the skills his own business directly needed. He made the point “Whether you plug that under ‘social’ or ‘business’ it doesn’t matter. To me, every business addresses a social cause.” He had earlier explained how his grandfather had set up factories then developed entire cities with their own urban social structures around them.

A recent example of developing social structures around a family business was offered by Prasad. In this case, as he quite clearly explained, a major impetus had been local unrest related to the presence of their business. The intention of the social development program now being developed through his family-corporate foundation was to overcome the social imbalance (providing employment to some and not others in the villages surrounding the factory) which had led to the unrest. All the examples above are offered because they stand in contradistinction to the main hypothesis that the philanthropy of the Indian elite is undertaken without expectation of reciprocity.

Higher education

Just less than half of participants in the present research described supporting

Indian tertiary education in some way. The ways included scholarships for students, funding of chairs, funding of research institutes, and the funding and management of private universities. In only one instance did a participant describe giving to overseas institutions, despite many participants themselves or their immediate families describing attending overseas universities. The support they related was distinctively different to support of higher education characterised by research in the West. Studies

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in the US disclose support of higher education (along with the arts) as the causes most supported by the wealthy (Auten et al. 2000; Clotfelter 1992; Murphy and Nagel 2002;

Odendahl 1990; Ostrower 1995; Reich 2013a; Wolpert 2006). In these Western studies, the institutions supported tend to be those which are patronised by the elites themselves. Longitudinal quantitative data from the US and the UK in the form of reports such as the Bank of America and Coutts’s & Co (for example Coutts & Co 2016a;

Coutts & Co 2016b; Pasic et al. 2016) confirm the preponderance of elite philanthropy directed at higher education (See also Appendix B).

Universities have been funded by the elite in India since the late nineteenth century but by no means with selfish intentions. The first universities in India were founded by the British, however, local notables contributed to funding their expansion and some of their constituent colleges. Widening access to and founding institutes for higher education were key strategies of Indian Nationalism aimed at equipping Indians with the skills needed for a successful independent nation. Most of the philanthropic trusts set up by prominent pro-Nationalist families supported higher education (Kapur and Mehta 2004, 2007).

The first Indian universities were elite in one respect. Although open to all, regardless of caste, creed or gender they required pre-existing educational achievement and the ability to undertake classes in English. Inevitably this meant that their students were drawn from a small segment of the population with those qualifications.

Nonetheless, the intention of the Nationalist elites was directed at the general uplift, through an Indian education system, of all social classes (Watt 2005).

The Hindu University in Banaras and the Indian Institution of Science were responses by their founders to the lack of science and technology education in India

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(Lala 1992; Watt 1997). A century later, in 2014, Ashoka University in Delhi was founded entirely through philanthropy (with which two participants were closely involved) as a response to the lack of liberal arts institutions in India today.

The new regional university, which Prasad described his family and business as founding, has a focus on research and training for rural development. This is in alignment with the philanthropy discussed above (Section 14.3.3) focused on village management. Prasad acknowledged during his interview the nexus between improving education, in what is one of the poorest states in India, and the fact that it is the state where most of his family’s businesses are located.

Sabith did not offer any explicit motivation behind the technical college his foundation created. It is one of a series of educational institutions he and his family have founded in some of the same locations as their property developments, so there is a probable commercial nexus in the case of Sabith as well. Its students, however, all attend on scholarships including some from the Gulf States and Africa.

The rationale offered by Ajay for his founding a graduate business college was to create work-ready graduates for industry. The hybrid charity and for profit model he created involved seeking investment from industrial partners. The economic model of this social enterprise was not made clear though clearly there will be a recruitment benefit to these partners making their contribution probably also an example of weak altruism (Atkinson 1990).

The mix of philanthropy and student fees that finances the Indian higher education sector is considered by Kapur and Mehta (2004, 2007) to be problematic— they describe some universities as “surrogate businesses” (Kapur and Mehta 2007:

119). Yet the Indian Government, prompted by two reports on the sector, is

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encouraging private investment (Ambani and Birla 2000; Murthy et al. 2012). As Indian universities are classified as nonprofit and therefore offer no financial return, the response by philanthropists such as Ajay through hybrid models such as venture philanthropy and social investment is unsurprising.

Moral citizenship

The autobiographical elements which participants shared were congruent with the variables that constitute the theoretical framework used for this research. The framework brings together two theoretical concepts developed by Schervish, identification theory and moral biography. Using these theoretical concepts, argues

Schervish, is the most fruitful way to identify the social and psychological frameworks that motivate the actions of philanthropists as individual agents.

Findings related to the identification model

There are some differences which affect the weighting of the five factors inherent in the identification model in the Indian context when compared with those apparent in the work of Schervish. For example, communities of association and invitations to participate seem to have less weight among these participants. This is, of course, related to differences in the cultural context, or structures, of India concerning which more detailed research would be instructive.

14.4.1.1 Frameworks of consciousness

Schervish explains the frameworks of consciousness influencing US philanthropists as being rooted in Western classical and Christian traditions.

Unsurprisingly, it was the dharmic concepts dãn and karma that were described in normative terms by some of the Indian participants (See Section 14.2.1). Although no

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participant explicitly suggested their actions were directly influenced by dharmic principles, several described themselves as motivated by spiritual values rather than religion itself.131 Some described having an interest in several religions, indicating these were influences on their thinking as well as their own particular affiliation. Those who described themselves as religious were in a minority.

A significant number of participants discussed how Gandhi and his notion of trusteeship (See Section 1.2.2), which draws on dharmic and Western traditions had influenced them; in some cases, their forebears had a direct connection with Gandhi himself. Bottomore (1993) has described the nexus between the doctrines and moral influence of Gandhi and a business elite which emerged at the time of Independence.

Distinct from findings reported in empirical studies of Western elite philanthropists were, however, descriptions of a consciousness that “the disparity in

India was just so much that would stare you in the face every day” (Ahan). All the participants described in various ways a similar awareness of the poverty and disparity that surrounded them. In a small number of cases this awareness was explained through stories explaining the participant’s own relatively humble background, yet their awareness of others even poorer.

During the research, participants articulated values such as “being useful”,

“changing people’s lives”, “sharing what they have”; and, beliefs such as “belief in the importance of education”, or in “business as a force for good”. The concept of “giving back” was offered by several participants as a reason for their philanthropy, often combined with acknowledgment of their good fortune. Values and beliefs such as these

131 Among participants who described a personal faith one was Buddhist, one Christian, 13 were Hindu, two Jain, three Muslim, and five Parsi.

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play an important part in frameworks of consciousness that lead to philanthropic behaviour. They are examples of “ways of thinking and feeling that are rooted deeply enough in someone’s awareness to induce their commitment to a cause” (Schervish and

Havens 1997: 241).

14.4.1.2 Models and experiences from youth

Some of those who came from privileged backgrounds gave examples of their involvement with the poor through family philanthropy. Others described learning an ethic of service to the underprivileged through their school or university college which is consistent with the component of identification theory that suggests models and experiences from youth animate adult philanthropy.

A number of participants came from families whose philanthropy traced back through generations and were able to tell stories, both received knowledge and personal memories, of the generosity of these forebears. Parents were described by many as models. Sometimes, parents’ influence was direct, for example, as Sabith recounted, whenever his father gave alms, he would make his children give something too. Others learned from their parents through being with them; whether it was accompanying parents as they dispensed food or medical assistance to the needy; or, when they attended formal events associated with the trusts, charities or fundraising with which their parents were involved. A variance on dynastic or parental modelling during youth was the influence of a sibling in one case, and of cousins in the case of another participant.

School experiences, especially social service volunteer programs, were described as factors in philanthropists’ philanthropic identification and reasoning. Awareness of different social structures and social norms gained from travelling or living abroad

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while young were also described by some participants as having an influence on their later thinking.

14.4.1.3 Discretionary resources

All participants acknowledged that they had wealth to deploy, and some that they had time; and many that both these were invested in philanthropy. In several cases, participants described that they had asked how much of their wealth was necessary to the comfort of themselves and their families. Others described their ability to invest significant time to philanthropy instead of, or together with, their wealth. In some instances, philanthropy was their primary occupation. These are what the identification model describes as discretionary resources—the time and money that philanthropists have available.

14.4.1.4 Communities of participation

Participants gave examples of their communities of participation, which in the identification model are described as formal and informal networks within which people become aware of the needs of those around them. Participants described participating in formal networks and associations set up specifically for exchanges of ideas about philanthropy, such as the IPI, Dasra, or Giving Friends. There was also evidence of participants’ mutual involvement on boards as well as other support of a common network of philanthropic organisations. Informal relationships between peers or colleagues were also described as sites of discussion and interactions related to discovering needs later met by participants through philanthropic action. Kinship ties and becoming aware of and modelling the philanthropic activities of others through wider acquaintance and networks were also described. These examples are different to the US experience, with that society’s much stronger culture of organised associations

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and social networks. For example, there was no evidence of the US elite’s practice of serving on the boards of cultural institutions or of networking through elite schools

(Odendahl 1990; Ostrower 1995).

14.4.1.5 Invitations to participate

Least apparent among the mobilising factors within Schervish’s identification model were indications of invitations to participate—direct requests for support made by someone within the participant’s community of participation. Far more prevalent were examples where interviewees explained how they actively sought out and researched causes and projects for their philanthropy.

Moral biography

Participants narratives included stories providing autobiographical explanations of their involvement in philanthropy. Ajit, a successful financier told how on a flight back from New York he decided there was more he wanted to do with his life. Anya, in the period after the double tragedy of the deaths of her husband and son, described how she not only took the helm and successfully steered their family business but also began devoting more and more of her time to the NGO world and social issues. Another participant, Anup realised that he could be of more value as a person if he put most of his time into helping extremely marginalised Musahar communities.

Kundan, having established a successful business realised “wealth is not about this… you know, diamonds and pearls. That’s not what wealth stands for” and began investing part of her substantial wealth into making health care more affordable. After

Zahira and her husband sold their successful business, she has been able to do what she feels she always wanted to do—“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t care about other people … Therefore, I’m so happy now”.

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Some came to wealth through their families either by birth or marriage. In one case, Darsh was enculturated—as the third generation scion of a wealthy business dynasty—to realise “the reason I’m here is because I’ve got resources with which I can change people’s lives.” In the case of Pallavi, also born to wealth, it took the shock of her father’s cancer diagnosis to lead her to founding a charity aimed at preventing children from starting to smoke. For Ahan, transformation came with what (Schervish 2000b;

Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002) describe as an experience of fortune or blessing: “You give when you’re at a certain age and stage in your life. And when you feel that you are slightly blessed”, explained Ahan.

Autobiographical stories told by many participants often conformed with a pattern where their initial condition of privilege and good fortune lead through a phase of transformation or liminality towards a goal or denouement related to philanthropy.

This is a pattern which Schervish describes as a dialectic of fortune and virtue (Schervish et al. 1994; Schervish and Herman 1988). Their direction towards a goal involving prosocial or philanthropic actions is an example of moral compass, one of two elements of moral biography (Schervish 2005a, 2006, 2008, 2014a), which with the identification model comprises the two constituent models under the rubric of moral citizenship of care (Schervish 2006, 2014a; Schervish and Havens 2002; Schervish and Whitaker

2010).

The second group of variables which go towards establishing the moral biography of participants includes the discretionary resources of time and money they described, as discussed in Chapter Seven ( Section 7.6). Added to these were frequent descriptions of their propensity to travel to achieve their philanthropic and other goals, which included examples of field visits to projects participants supported or were

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assessing; as well as, in two instances, study abroad directly related to their philanthropic interests. Moral biographies are composed through purposeful agency.

This research has been concerned with drawing examples, such as those, above of philanthropic agency from the narratives of participants.

Personal empowerment, however, goes beyond the objective quantitative wherewithal of time and money toward a subjective evaluation of these assets. Scaife et al. (2011: 26) describe this as “financial security is not so much about a dollar amount but rather a state of mind”. This psychological empowerment brings with it the attainment of what Schervish describes as the spiritual secret of money (Schervish 1990;

Schervish and Herman 1988; Schervish and O’Herlihy 2002).

Schervish describes two stages of psychological empowerment. At the first level are those who are still creating wealth, whose philanthropy takes the form of their public contribution to social good (Schervish 1990). It is not yet their chief purpose.

Examples of those for whom philanthropy is not their chief purpose were participants such as Ashim, Nanthan and Salman still engaged in business life. In addition, there were those for whom the management of their business and philanthropy are closely intertwined, in keeping with a long tradition of business and philanthropy in India.

These include Amit, Arjun, Darsh, Kundan, Pallavi, Prasad, Ragini, Rahul, Sabith, Ashim,

Nanthan. The narrative of a transition from purposeful wealth generation to a purposeful focus on philanthropy was absent in their interviews.

The second stage of psychological empowerment, Schervish explains is achieved when an individual can answer the question posed by Keynes ( 1963 [1930]: 198):

“How to use his freedom from pressing economic cares ... to live wisely and agreeably

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and well”. Among these are Ajay, Anya, Arul, Ahan, Ajit, Arvind, Delara, Lionel, Rashmi and Zahira.

Hyperagents and producers of philanthropy

The participants named above, equipped with the psychological and material capacities to make a difference in the world are able to exercise the specific model of agency described by Schervish as hyperagency (Schervish 1990, 1992, 2000a, b, 2003,

2006, 2008, 2009, 2014b; Schervish and Havens 2001c; Schervish and Herman 1988).

Hyperagents, says Schervish (2003), operate within the framework of structure and agency where agents interact with past, present and future. They are distinguished, he says, by their ability to make an impact on the future.

Those participants such as Ahan, Ajay, Arvind, Lionel, Nanthan, Pallavi, Rashmi,

Salman, Zahira who have chosen to create their own NGOs provide an example of their hyperagency. Others are founders or owners of businesses and effectively control the philanthropy and CSR of those businesses. The majority of participants whether through their own philanthropic vehicles or through their family business jugalbandi are producers of philanthropy (Schervish 2003; Schervish and Herman 1988; Schervish et al. 1986). Philanthropists as producers or suppliers are unconstrained as to whom or whether they supply their philanthropy which presents a challenge to fundraising NGOs

There is, as described in Chapter Two (Section 2.1.4) a debate underway concerning the consequences of philanthropists enjoying such power (Callahan 2010,

2017; Giridharadas 2018; Reich 2018b). Of more applied relevance is that, as Schervish

(2000b) has suggested the role of professional fundraisers is to discover the personal philanthropic impulses of wealth holders (See below 14.7).

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Limitations of this investigation

Unlike the cited research into Western elite philanthropy, this investigation due to constraints in time and money derived its data from only 28 participants. “How many qualitative interviews is enough? The answer is that there is no rule of thumb,” say

Baker and Jimerson (1992). If compared, however, with sample sizes such as 130 participants enjoyed in the Study on Wealth and Philanthropy (Schervish and Herman

1988) or the 82 philanthropists interviewed by Breeze and Lloyd (2013), this investigation represents a small sample. The intention of the investigation, however, was to test a hypothesis rather than to emulate Schervish and colleagues in developing a theoretical model to explore the motivating forces of philanthropy.

The size of sampling and the resources available—this was, after all, an investigation by a single researcher—did not lend itself to the kind of multivariate analysis that lies behind the theorisation developed by Schervish. Hopefully, through providing the opportunity to test his models using a sample drawn from quite a different cultural tradition goes towards proving the value of that model which as noted in Chapter Four are the most sophisticated theoretical models developed to date.

That this research was conducted by an outsider to the culture and traditions it investigated implies limits to its understanding of these. It is, of course, an example of

Orientalism (Said 1979) and the furtherance of a long tradition of Western academics studying a foreign culture through their own culturally and historically biased lens.132

On the other hand, it is very likely that my positionality as a cultural outsider yet a

132 Said (1979: 2) explains “Orientalism can be discussed and analyzed as the corporate institution for dealing with the Orient—dealing with it by making statements about it, authorizing views of it, describing it, by teaching it, settling it, ruling over it: in short, Orientalism as a Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient”.

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professional insider, as a consultant in the field of philanthropy, gained me access to participants and encouraged an openness that for other investigators might be more challenging.

Some critics of qualitative research might regard as a limitation, as noted in

Chapter Six (section 6.3.1 ), their concern regarding the "self revealing subject"

(Atkinson and Silverman 1997: 322). The epistemological and ontological counter arguments to this concern are made in the same chapter (Section 6.2.5 ). In summary, it is because of the seriousness and significance of their activity as philanthropy in their lives that the participants agreed to give their valuable time be interviewed and told stories and shared values, beliefs, and practices related to their philanthropy.

My professional life equipped me with the skills and connections to gain access to participants and gave the participants the confidence to discuss their philanthropy with me. I was welcomed by many of the participants as someone who was knowledgeable about philanthropy and with whom they were willing to share their own stories. This has been true of researchers of Western elite philanthropy. For example,

Breeze, Lloyd, Odendahl, Panas, Prince and Scaife have all worked in the philanthropic sector as administrators or consultants. Such positionality adds insight to the research.

The methodology adopted for this research relied on both the positionality and reflexivity of the researcher. This research is value laden because I as researcher came to it with my particular stance. This type of research is interpretivist because the subjectivity of the researcher interacts with that of the participants (Saunders et al.

2009; Schwandt 2000; Walliman 2005).

That all the interviews were conducted in English was unlikely as discussed in

Chapter Six (Section 6.3.3), to have been a limitation. Almost all participants had

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experienced their formal education at elite schools or universities where English was the medium of instruction. Most were probably as fluent, if not more fluent, in that tongue than any other.

Applications and recommendations for future research

Further qualitative research interviews of elite philanthropists would be illuminating, especially if a sufficient dataset to enable the type of multivariate testing undertaken by Schervish and Havens (1997) could eventually be established. During the period this research was being done, a Centre for Social Impact and Philanthropy was established at Ashoka University, an institution which two participants played a role in founding. With the encouragement and influence of those participants it would be possible to continue further research into the philanthropy of the elite, which could lead to expanded and robust studies. This could lead to valuable exploration of some of the issues outlined in Chapter One and sound advice on these and other emerging policy and practical questions.

Chapter One proposed practical benefits from research which included better understanding by government of its role in philanthropy. This would include the problem that Kapur and Mehta (2004; 2007) raise (See Section 14.3.4) about funding universities. If such research includes the voices of individuals as well as the trusts and businesses that are contributing to the higher education sector, the data will unquestionably add value to the understanding of elite philanthropy which the present research has undertaken.

The Companies Act (Government of India 2013a) was adopted in the expectation that it would unlock substantial resources from the corporate world for India’s development challenges. The literature shows that at this stage there is a great deal 324

more to know about its impact and future. This literature, so far, has not included the voices of the business owning elite themselves. This thesis fills that absence. It also provides a theoretical model and methodology which can be used to progress an investigation including voices of the owners of the businesses on whom the Act relies.

At the time of Independence, the Indian Government showed itself willing to convene advisory panels to assist with the establishment of CSR (Mohan 2001). Some of their work influenced the eventual formation of the 2013 Companies Act. Now that it has been enacted and opportunities have occurred to measure its impact it would be beneficial to study this and included in the analysis the views of business owners. More recently the government convened advisory panels involving the elite to assist with the reform of education (Ambani and Birla 2000; Murthy et al. 2012). Similar advisory groups, even involving some of the same elite business owners as well as others would be well placed to encourage qualitative research into the patterns and behaviours of their peers using a methodology and theoretical framework similar to this thesis.

The healthy interest in philanthropy shown by the media at the time that Bill

Gates and Warren Buffett were in India to promote their Giving Pledge would suggest that there is an appetite for informed public discourse (See Appendix E). Since then, as commented in Chapter Two, there has been a considerable growth in the academic and grey literature on the subject.133 It will also be highly beneficial if this continues.

While this research has pressed Western theorisation into service and found it productive, a much greater contribution awaits culturally Indian researchers who, hopefully, will develop a theoretical model attuned to India’s culture and traditions.

133 Grey literature refers to literature which is not peer reviewed. For the most part the grey literature referenced in this thesis consists of reports researched and written by wealth advisory services.

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There are some useful precedents in work done by Indian scholars such as Muniapan and colleagues applying dharmic principles to analysis of CSR (Muniapan 2015, 2016;

Muniapan and Dass 2008; Muniapan and Raj 2014) and by Sharma (2006) to ethical business leadership.

Finally, as discussed in Chapter Eight (Section 8.4.3), elite Indian philanthropists, are producers of philanthropy and hyperagents. This has great significance for fundraisers and NGOs because they are not in a position to demand support for their causes. Fundraisers must make considerable effort to understand the factors that motivate elite philanthropists (Godfrey 2016b; Schervish 2000b). In addition, fundraisers should consider how they can gain access to philanthropy through networks or communities of participation to which elite philanthropists belong.

Organisations such as Dasra and Caring Friends provide such opportunities.

Conclusion and contribution to knowledge

This research set out to test the hypothesis that there is a distinct practice of philanthropy by the Indian elite that is shaped by India’s own history and traditions? The answer is yes, India has a practice of philanthropy whose characteristics are clearly shaped by dharmic, Muslim and Parsi giving traditions and norms as well as those introduced from the West.

The primary conclusion from this research is that elite Indian philanthropy can be characterised as largely altruistic; it is other directed and mostly undertaken without expectation of any direct reciprocity. Most of the philanthropy described by participants was clearly directed at the alleviation of poverty. This contrasts with much elite philanthropy in the West which can be characterised as consumption philanthropy: that

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is to say that it tends to support causes, institutions or organisations from which the donors, their families or their social networks benefit or are likely to benefit.

This broad assertion concerning Western philanthropy is backed by a body of both qualitative and quantitative research discussed in Chapter Two. As noted in

Chapter One (Section 1.3), there has been little previous empirical data of any kind to answer whether elite philanthropy in India reflects this Western pattern of so-called consumption philanthropy; or, conversely, shows an interest in alleviating poverty or inequality. That was the gap that this research was designed to fill. Nonetheless, as noted in Chapter Two (Section 2.3.4) there is little room for doubt in the available literature that the causes most supported by Indian elite philanthropists (including through their corporate philanthropy) are the education, health and livelihood of the poor, and that education is the most supported of these.

Research questions answered

This investigation is formulated around six research questions that were stated in Chapter One (Section 1.5) to which the answers can now be summarised in this concluding section.

14.8.1.1 What is philanthropy in the Indian context?

This thesis discovers that India has a practice of philanthropy whose characteristics are clearly shaped by dharmic, Muslim and Parsi giving traditions and norms. The most historically deep-seated of these norms is dãn, which in its purest form means a disinterested and non-reciprocal gift. Additionally, a norm of making and

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preserving endowments, including awaqf, for both public benefit and religious reasons has long been embedded in the structure of philanthropy in India

14.8.1.2 How is philanthropy understood by the Indian elite?

It appears that norms of giving to the poor are deeply embedded in the structure within which elite Indian philanthropists act. The concept of dãn is closely entwined with contemporary elite and non-elite philanthropy in India and is broadly considered as a custom of giving to strangers without expectation of return. Of more recent origin and of particular salience to the wealthy elite is Gandhi’s notion of trusteeship which advocates that surplus wealth ought to be considered to be in trust for the benefit of the community and that the elite as creators of wealth have the responsibility to ensure its distribution.

Most of India’s private wealth has been created and is held by business families.

It has also long been normative for business dynasties to create endowments or trusts for philanthropic purposes. The philanthropy of participants from such families today is largely funded through their business and administered by the family regardless of whether the philanthropic vehicle is a family or a business trust. Other participants who were not from such families described setting up and managing their own NGOs to which they contributed wealth acquired from their business or professional activities.

14.8.1.3 How does this elite describe their own philanthropy?

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enterprise or activities; and there were others that explained providing grants. Among these foundations, there were some described as family entities; and there were some that were explained as business foundations.

14.8.1.4 What do they do?

The stories told by participants were strongly indicative of them being actively involved in planning and undertaking roles in the philanthropic projects they described.

Several have chosen to create their own NGOs; others are founders or owners of businesses and effectively have control of the philanthropy and CSR of those businesses.

The majority of participants whether through private philanthropic vehicles or through their family business can accurately be described as hyperagents and producers of philanthropy.

Most of the philanthropy described by participants was clearly directed at issues directly relating to the poverty that surrounds them. Collectively they provide support for primary, secondary and technical education; health care for the poor; and, standard of living issues such as the basic and immediate needs of the most impoverished, the natural and physical challenges the poor face, and programs designed to ensure their employment and promote their empowerment. A small number indicated that they support higher education and research, or culture and the arts. Yet, even these causes were described in terms of benefit to others rather than themselves or their social peers.

Twenty-five of the participants gave examples of support for primary and secondary education. The support they described was mainly directed to schools providing free education for children in both impoverished urban and rural settings.

Other broad categories related to capacity building and training of teachers; programs

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to ensure better attendance and participation by students; support for extracurricular activity; and other interventions intended to improve education.

The provision of health care for the poor was another area many participants described. Their stories were about managing or funding hospitals, clinics and clinical outreach programs. As well, some described creating and managing programs or providing grants to deal with specific health issues and diseases. The clinics and hospitals participants spoke about were facilities for the disadvantaged which offered services at low charges. Several initiatives for providing primary care in remote rural

India were described.

Direct support for the basic and immediate needs of the poor included descriptions of projects and programs described ranging from responses to emergency and immediate needs through to basic domestic issues of water, sanitation and housing; income generation related projects (skilling, vocational training, and adult education); schemes in rural areas for improving agricultural practices and non-agricultural income generating skills; numeracy and literacy projects specifically aimed at empowering women; and, (also largely directed at women) savings and loans programs and microfinance schemes intended to enable small business and other trading activities

The range of activities supported by participants to this research in higher education included the creation of new tertiary institutions, as well as support for research and chairs at existing Indian universities. Three participants described their involvement in support for culture.

14.8.1.5 What do they do it for?

Notably, participants’ explanations of their philanthropy referred to relief of the poverty which they, the philanthropists, are acutely aware surrounds them. There was

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not one participant among the philanthropists interviewed that did not articulate an understanding of the reality of poverty in India.

The findings indicate that a distinguishing feature of the Indian elite’s approach to philanthropy is that it can be characterised as largely altruistic—related to others and without expectation of reciprocity. Most of the narratives shared by participants suggests that these elite Indian philanthropists are concerned with causes that benefit others. The stories they shared were illustrative of awareness and concern for the poor, rather than relating to obtaining advantages, such as profit for themselves or benefits for their families, communities or social networks. Philanthropic actions and intentions were other directed and undertaken without expectation of reciprocity as discussed in

Chapter Three.

There were exceptions to this, where expectations of reciprocal benefit were described that were consistent with theories about weak and impure altruism. These exceptions were related to corporate philanthropy provided through participants’ businesses which provided benefits such as skilled labour and the licence to operate for those businesses.

14.8.1.6 What has influenced them?

Exploration of what influenced participants, or what were the mobilising factors for their philanthropy, discovered data that closely conformed to the theoretical framework applied to the research. Most significant of these can be broadly explained as relating to values and beliefs (frameworks of consciousness), childhood experience and upbringing (models and experiences from youth), and having the privilege of time and/or money to spend (existence of discretionary resources). They were influenced to a

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significantly lesser degree by personal and professional networks (communities of association) or appeals for help (invitations to participate).

Several participants described themselves as motivated by spiritual, though not religious, values. A significant number of participants discussed how Gandhi and his notion of trusteeship (See Section 1.2.2), which draws on dharmic and Western traditions had influenced them. Parents and, in some cases, grandparents were described as models. Some of those who came from privileged backgrounds gave examples of their involvement in existing family philanthropy. Others described learning an ethic of service to the underprivileged through their education. The concept of “giving back” was offered by several participants as a reason for their philanthropy, often combined with acknowledgment of their good fortune. This description fits the concept of serial reciprocity described by Moody (2008)and Paton and Moody (2008) and the empirical evidence compiled helps contributes to the need identified by Moody

(2008:148) for "cross-cultural data" to support this concept.

The Theoretical Contribution

The research applied a theoretical framework, derived from models created by

Schervish and colleagues from patterns discovered in the philanthropy of the wealthy in the US. The intention for using this framework was to supply an ontological and epistemological grounding and a methodology to this thesis. Findings consistent with

Schervish’s identification theory and his concept of moral citizenship of care were discovered in the narratives of the Indian philanthropists interviewed. All the variables were operative. Three were sufficiently different to suggest that further investigation would be informative. These were firstly, frameworks of consciousness that related to

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non-Western norms and beliefs were discovered. Then additionally, both communities of participation and invitations to participate were found to be weaker as factors than in studies by Schervish.

Summary of contributions

The theoretical contribution offered by this research is a validation that models developed by Schervish can be applied to non-Western philanthropy. The major empirical contribution offered is evidence of patterns of elite Indian philanthropy which could be understood as more altruistic and less self-serving than those identified in the

West.

END

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Gandhi, S. 2011. Using Wealth to Transform Destinies. Livemint, 27 January 2011. Ghose, S. 2010. Trickle-Down Theory. 7 September 2011. Ghosh, A. 2011a. Act of Giving: Giving across Generations. Economic Times, 4 October 2011. Ghosh, A. 2011b. Philanthropy: Indians Give Just 1.5-3% of Their Annual Incomes. The Economic Times, 1 October 2011. Guha, R. 2010. Give and Let Give. Hindustan Times, 11 December 2010. Guha, R. 2011. The Makers of Modern India, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press. Hindu 2010. Sunil Mittal Bags ‘Philanthropist of the Year’ at Asian Awards. The Hindu, 27 October 2010. Hindu 2011. Nilekanis Donate Rs. 50 Crore to Iihs. 1 October 2011. Indian Express 2011. Purse Strings Loosen, Indians Donate $5 Bn. Indian Express, 30 June 2011. Jenkins, C. 2011a. Art and Philanthrophy: An Elusive Pairing in India. 1 October 2011. Jenkins, C. 2011b. Exploring New Ways to Solve Old Problems. 1 October 2011. Jenkins, C. 2011c. Kalpana Morparia: India’s Social Conscience Has Undergone a Dramatic Change. Live Mint, 4 October 2011. Jenkins, C. 2011d. N. Vaghul: We Really Want to Inculcate a Culture of Giving in This Country. 9 September 2011. Jenkins, C. 2011e. Rohini Nilekani: Our Mission Is Safe and Sustainable Water for All. 9 October 2011. Jenkins, C. 2011f. Zia Mody: It’s an Intervention for a Certain Period of Time, to Effect Change. 9 October 2011. Karnik, K. 2010. Philanthropy: Promise of Plenty? The Economic Times, 7 December 2010. Karunakaran, N. 2011. Ns Raghavan on Way to Change Indian Philanthropy. 1 October 2011. Khan, S. 2011. Warren Buffett Effect: Gmr's Founder Gm Rao Pledges Rs 1,540 Crore, Others to Follow Suit. 21 September 2011. Kher, S. 2010. Will Give Money, Time for Charity, 100 Pledge at ‘Giving Summit’ 2010. Express India, 1 August 2010. Kothari, A. 2011. Parent-Child Duos at Indian Philanthropy Forum Highlight Generational Approaches. 1 October 2011. Kumar, G. S. & Yu, X. 2010. Tata’s Top Executive Embraces Philanthropy. Harvard Crimson, 28 October 2010. Livemint 2010. A Fresh New Philanthropy. Livemint, 21 February 2010. Livemint 2011. Of Givers and Takers. Livemint, 27 March 2011. Macrae, P. 2010. India's New Rich Prove Reluctant Philanthropists. 21 July 2019. Mahindra, A. G. 2011. Not a Matter of One-Off Donation. Live Mint, 18 March 2011. Mishra, A. 2011. India: Charity Not Beginning at Home for Universities. 21 July 2019. Mittal, S. B. 2011. Indian Philanthropy: Gaining New Momentum. Livemint, 10 March 2011. Murlidharan, S. 2010. Anatomy of a Philanthropic Act. Business Standard, 19 December 2010. Murugesh, K. R. 2010. Corp Social Responsibility - Prevalent Form of Philanthropy. The Economic Times, 26 December 2010. Nair, M. R. 2011. Indian Billionaires Should Give More Aid. DNA (Daily News & Analysis), 21 July 2019. Narain, P. P. 2011. Religious Tradition Is Turning a Corner. Livemint, 21 January 2011. Narayan, S. 2009. Why Are We So Wary of ‘Giving’? , 21 July 2019.

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Narayan, S. 2010a. The Absurd Arithmetic of Big-Ticket Charity 2010. Live Mint, 2 December 2010. Narayan, S. 2010b. Let’s Assume This: India’s Rich, Whether It Be Mahindra or Murthy, Are Indophiles. 2011, 1 October 2011. Natarajan, J. 2011. Charitable Thoughts. The Deccan Chronicle, 28 March 2011. Nelson, D. 2009. Where Are India's Great Philanthropists? Daily Telegraph, 21 July 2019. Nichenametla, P. 2010. The Joy of Giving. Hindustan Times, 5 December 2010. Nilekani, R. 2010. Philanthropy in India. Alliance Magazine, 1 October 2011. Nilekani, R. 2011a. Building a 360-Degree View of Philanthropy. Live Mint, 10 January 2011. Nilekani, R. 2011b. Maintaining a Sense of Balance, Humility. Livemint, 21 March 2011. Pandeya, R. 2011. Realizing a Better Bang for Their Buck. 2 October 2011. Pandit, A. 2011. Business Standard, 27 March 2011. Pasricha, A. 2010. Philanthropy Grows Slowly among India's Wealthy. Voice of America (VOA), 3 December 2010. Pawar, Y. 2011. It’s All Philanthropy at Op Jindal Inaugural Lecture Series. DNA (Daily News Analysis), 5 January 2011. Poduwal, S. 2010. All Eyes on Indian Billionaires to Match up Western Counterparts. 21 July 2019. Politzer, M. 2011a. 10 Innovations in Philanthropy. 1 October 2011. Politzer, M. 2011b. Ngos Challenged by Capacity Constraints. Livemint, 23 January 2011. Rajadhyaksha, N. 2011a. The Enlightened Indian Giver. Live Mint, 6 October 2010. Rajadhyaksha, N. 2011b. Please Tax Us More. Livemint, 30 August 2011. Ramachandran, N. 2010. Contours of Social Business. Live Mint, 31 October 2010. Rao, A. 2011a. Don't Trust Blindly When You Donate. Business Standard, 15 July 2011. Rao, S. L. 2011b. Rules of the Game - CSR Must Not Lose Sight of the First Principles of Business. The Telegraph Calcutta India, 19 September 2011. Rawat, V. S. 2011. Shiv Nadar to Pump Rs 500 Cr into University. 22 September 2011. Ray, S. G. 2009. The Philanthropy Conundrun [Sic]. Tehelka Magasine, 21 July 2019. Reuters 2011. India’s Rich Too Green for Grand Giving? Reuters India Insight, 28 March 2011. Satish Kumar, J. 2011. There Is More Confidence in Non-Profit Community. Livemint, 29 June 2011. Scrutton, A. & Kuncheria, C. J. 2011. Gates, Buffet in India to Persuade Rich to Give to Philanthropy. 5 March 2016. Shankaran, S. & Tewari, R. 2011. Emphasis on Oversight Instead of Incentives Binds Philanthropy. Live Mint, 30 January 2011. Sheth, A. & Singhal, M. 2011. India Philanthropy Report 2011 [Online]. Mumbai: Bain & Company. Available: http://www.bain.com/publications/articles/india-philanthropy-report-2011.aspx [Accessed 16 February 2019]. Shulka, A. 2010. First Official Estimate: An Ngo for Every 400 People in India. Indian Express.com, 7 July 2010. Srivastava, S. S. & Tandon, R. 2002. Invisible yet Widespread: The Non-Profit Sector in India [Online]. New Delhi: PRIA. Available: http://ccss.jhu.edu/wp- content/uploads/downloads/2011/09/India_PRIA_Invisible_Yet_Widespread_2003.pdf [Accessed 4 December 2018]. Subramaniam, D. 2011. Charity & It's Return on Investment. Forbes India, 10 January 2011.

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Sukumar, R. 2011. The Business of Doing Good. 2 October 2011. Sundar, P. 2011. The Black Hole of Philanthropy. The Economic Times, 16 April 2011. Times, E. 2011. Mukesh Ambani Critical of Western Charity Ethos. The Economic Times, 9 February 2012. TOI 2011a. India Will Have 403,000 Millionaires by 2015: Report. The Times of India, 31 August 2011. TOI 2011b. Wealth Must Have Definitive Social Purpose: Azim Premji. 4 October 2011. Ved, M. 2011. The Buffett-Gates Effect on India’s Super Rich. 25 September 2011. Walsh, B. 2006. Learning the Art of Giving. Time Magazine World, 2 September 2006. Wax, E. 2010. In India, New Wealth Brings a Rise in Giving. Washington Post, 6 September 2011. Wharton School 2011. How India’s New Philanthropists Are Working to Bring About Systemic Change. India Knowledge @ Wharton, 19 May 2011. Yuen, D. 2011a. Gates & Buffett Shine Spotlight on Indian Philanthropy. Asian Philanthropy Advisory Network 1 March 2011. Yuen, D. 2011b. Top 2010 Philanthropy Gifts in India. 19 September 2011.

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APPENDIX A: SCHERVISH’S SIXTEEN LOGICS

1988, Empowerment Schervish & 1992 Adoption and 2001 Modern Medici 2003 Hyperagency and Beneficence) Ostrander 1990 Altruism

Entrepreneurial logic* The strategic Hands-on efforts apply Hands-on efforts to The joint contribution consciousness innovative approaches apply innovative of both human and

BUSINESS / INVESTMENT / BUSINESS associated with the to fulfilling needs. approaches to fulfilling financial capital of a entrepreneurial logic needs. wealth holder to is akin to the strategic inaugurate either a consciousness that new charitable characterizes the enterprise or a new business component within an entrepreneur. This existing charity. involves an active, hands-on engagement of the individual as a producer in the philanthropic production process.

BUSINESS / INVESTMENT / BUSINESS Investment logic* / At the core of the Philanthropy is viewed Philanthropy as That “middle” form venture philanthropy investment logic’s as raising and applying raising and applying that infuses strategic economic and human economic and human managerial advice and consciousness is the capital to achieve capital to achieve financial resources belief that discernible outcomes. discernible outcomes. into a philanthropic philanthropy is not the effort, but does not giving of time and interject the hands-on money but its daily direction that is investment. the hallmark of an

entrepreneur.

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Managerial logic* The philanthropist’s Efforts focus on Efforts focused around The contribution of position of improving the improving organizational

BUSINESS / INVESTMENT / BUSINESS involvement is as a organizational organizational expertise without the producer, involving a effectiveness of effectiveness of contribution of strategic philanthropic groups. philanthropic groups. financial resources to practice oriented elevate the around rationally effectiveness of a managing the charitable mobilization of a organization. philanthropic organization’s assets in order to produce an outcome in the most effective way possible. DONOR ORIENTED DONOR Exchange philanthropy* In this logic, Giving propelled by Giving is propelled by Giving propelled by philanthropists in a mutual obligation mutual obligation mutual obligation particular region or within a network of within a net within a network of community are donors. work of donors. donors. frequently called upon to contribute to each other’s causes or

organizations.

DONOR ORIENTED DONOR Derivative Philanthropic Giving based on Giving is based on Giving based on philanthropy/pro bono involvement is a obligations associated obligations associated obligations associated means of fulfilling the with job expectations with job expectations with job expectations. responsibilities that or family or family accrue to individuals responsibilities. responsibilities. by virtue of their membership in a particular community

or corporation.

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Noblesse oblige / Noblesse oblige logic is Philanthropy grows Philanthropy grows Philanthropy grows DONOR ORIENTED DONOR empowerment found primarily among out of decision to out of the decision to out of decision to the inherited wealthy. designate designate part of designate part of Money is a trust in a part of family money family money for family money for deep social sense as for social involvement. social involvement. social involvement. well as a legal sense. A proportion is demarcated

specifically for philanthropy. Brokering logic* Brokering Donors solicit other Donors solicit other Donors solicit other philanthropy centres key donors in their key donors in their key donors in their around efforts to own network. own network. own network. engage both the time MEDIATED and money of other potential contributors. Those who engage in this logic tend to

occupy producer positions in a particular organization, primarily as fundraisers. Catalytic philanthropy* Catalytic philanthropy Organizers donate Organizers donate Organizers donate revolves around time to mobilize large time to mobilize large time to mobilize large

MEDIATED efforts to mobilize the number of other number of other number of other affective engagement donors in a mass donors in a mass donors in a mass of third parties on appeal. appeal. appeal. behalf of a cause rather than simply around obtaining contributions of time or money.

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Contributory logic* Contributors display Donor gives to a cause Donor gives to a cause Donor gives to a cause or express varying with no direct contact with no direct contact with no direct contact degrees of affinity to with recipient. with recipient. with recipient. MEDIATED the purposes and goals of the recipient organization, they show no desire to

directly involve themselves with it as anything more than financial supporters. Therapeutic In the therapeutic Donors seek Donors seek logic/empowerment logic, the self- simultaneously to simultaneously to strategy development and enhance their own enhance their own

PERSONAL ENGAGEMENT PERSONAL empowerment of the sense of self- sense of self- wealthy become an empowerment and to empowerment and to explicit part of their give over some active give over some active philanthropic efforts organizational control organizational control to empower others. It to beneficiaries. to beneficiaries. is almost exclusively found among a younger generation of inherited wealthy who are actively engaged in progressive politics and alternative “social change” philanthropies. Consumption Oriented around the Donor is also Donors materially Donors materially

ENGAGEMENT philanthropy* production of a beneficiary of gift. benefit from the benefit from the PERSONAL PERSONAL philanthropic good or organizations to which organizations to which service that the givers they contribute. they contribute. or their families have already used or will consume either in the present or at some point in the future. 365

PERSONAL ENGAGEMENT PERSONAL Adoption logic* There is a direct and Donors attend Donors attend Donors attend unmediated relation personally to recipient personally to recipient personally to recipient between needs in an ongoing needs in an ongoing needs in an ongoing philanthropists and and multifaceted and multifaceted and multifaceted the beneficiar(y/ies). relationship. relationship. relationship. The philanthropist has a sensitivity to the needs and problems of specific people for whom they have personal concern. PERSONAL ENGAGEMENT PERSONAL Productive logic* Productive logic Above-market Above-market defines business business relations with business relations with endeavours as being employees, sup pliers, employees, suppliers, philanthropic. In the or consumers are or consumers are productive logic of viewed as viewed as philanthropy, business philanthropy. philanthropy. and philanthropic activity intersect to the point where they are conceived as being one and the same. Programmatic logic The programmatic Conscious effort unites logic of giving involves giving activities in a conscious effort on order to achieve a

OP (92)OP the part of the donor coherent program of to unite a number of outcomes. philanthropic activities in order to

achieve a coherent or thematic program of philanthropic outcomes.

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Memorial logic Philanthropy is Philanthropic characterized by endeavours create philanthropy that outposts or enduring combines a concern to presences of one’s self address social needs or others. with a desire to be OP (92)OP remembered for them over time. It involves contributing to and

attaching one’s name to building projects, endowed chairs at universities, special art collections, foundations, and so forth. Missionary logic Philanthropy designed Active educational OP (92)OP to produce social efforts aim to achieve change through the social change through advocacy of beliefs to individual

politically or morally transformation. educate people.

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APPENDIX B: QUANTITATIVE RESEARCH OF US & UK ELITE PHILANTHROPY

This Appendix provides a review of quantitative data relating to US and British elite philanthropy and is intended to supplement the brief analysis of quantitative studies offered in Chapter Two (Section 2.1.2)

The US statistics on elite philanthropy

There are three datasets dealing with elite philanthropy in the US. One published by the Indiana University Lilly Family School of Philanthropy is the Study of High Net

Worth Philanthropy (Osili 2010; Osili 2012; Pasic et al. 2016, 2018; Rooney et al. 2014;

Rooney et al. 2009). The second is a series of reports on A Decade of Million Dollar Gifts

(Osili 2013). The third is reports for 2013 until 2016 published by Coutts & Co (Coutts &

Co 2013a, 2014b, 2015b, 2016b). These datasets are described, and the findings illustrated in Figures B.1, B.2 & B.3 below. A caveat to the datasets is that they each survey different populations and the published findings vary in the units measured and the categorisation of causes supported. As well stated by the report into one of these datasets itself, “It is also important to note that one should be cautious when comparing data from different sources directly because different sources often use different methodologies in data collection and estimation” (Osili 2013: 52).

The Study of High Net Worth Philanthropy

The Study of High Net Worth Philanthropy comprises six biennial studies undertaken between 2005 and 2017, examining the giving of America’s wealthiest households (Osili 2010; Osili 2012; Pasic et al. 2016; Rooney et al. 2014; Rooney and

Frederick 2006; Rooney et al. 2009). The data used between 2005 and 2013 is drawn from a randomised survey of households across the US whose household income was

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greater than $200,000 and/or net worth (excluding the value of their residence) of at least $1,000,000. For the last two reported periods, 2015 and 2017, the data collection methodology changed to use "recent advances in survey research technology, including enhanced internet-based survey methods and sampling techniques” (Pasic et al. 2016:

8).

Excluded from Figure B.1 below, therefore, are the 2015 and 2017 reports (Pasic et al. 2016, 2018). In these reports the causes shown as receiving the largest share of philanthropy are Religion and Basic Needs. This is a dramatic contrast to the clear pattern shown consistently by the preceding five biennial reports. This report includes data from 1435 and 1646 respondent households respectively, roughly double the numbers of respondents to the previous surveys. The researchers draw attention to the surprising 2015 result for Religious Organisations which elevated that from third to the top category.

This shift in the top category was likely connected with two variables. First, the average income and wealth levels of households in this year’s study were lower than in previous years. Households with lower levels of wealth and income may be more likely to give to Religious Organisations. Additionally, two large gifts to Religious Organisations in 2015 were recorded, pushing the giving category to the top in that year’s study (Pasic et al. 2016:18).

Unfortunately, the authors give no explanation whatsoever for the surprising change in the shift in Basic Needs, which shifted from second to the bottom to second from top in 2015.134 This pattern, where the sectors given the largest share of philanthropy are Basic Needs (27.9% in 2015 and 19% in 2017) and Religion (36.1% and 43%) in contrast to earlier years, is repeated in both 2015 and 2017 (Pasic et al.

134 Basic Needs in this series of reports are defined as “basic human needs such as food and shelter” (Osili 2010: 26; Rooney et al. 2009: 17).

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2016, 2018). In the absence of any explanation for these dramatic shifts in the data for these years that they are omitted from Figure 1.1 below. Tables showing the data from all of the surveys are included at the end of this Appendix.

Figure B.1: Causes supported by US HNWI households 2005 - 2013

Percentage of Dollars Given to Causes

Education Giving Vehicles Religious Arts & Culture Health Youth/Family Services Combination Other Environment & Animal care Basic Necessities International 0% 5% 10% 15% 20% 25% 30%

2005 2007 2009 2011 2013

Sources: Osili (2010); Osili (2012); Rooney et al. (2014, 2009); Rooney and Frederick (2006).

For the first time, in the 2013 data (Rooney et al. 2014), the category Education is divided into both Higher Education and K-12, showing a significantly higher proportion is given to higher education (22.9% of all dollar giving) compared with K-12

(4.10%). For 2015 and 2017 the percentages are respectively for Higher Education,

8.4% and 4%; and for K-12 Education, 4% and 6%. In the pre 2013 reports there is no distinction between Higher Education and K-12. It seems reasonable to assume based on findings and discussions such as that of Havens et al. (2006); Odendahl (1990);

Ostrower (1995); Reich (2006, 2013a); and Schervish (2005a), that the recipients of higher education and K- 12 giving displayed by the US data are, in the main, the elite institutions the philanthropists and their families themselves use. 370

Giving Vehicles include gifts to the private foundations, charitable trusts, and donor advised funds which are, in the main. controlled by the philanthropists themselves. The inclusion of Giving Vehicles in analyses of philanthropy is considered by some as problematic (Leat 2016; Madoff 2011, 2016). Sometimes, these vehicles are used to obtain tax deductions when, in any particular year, it suits the tax minimisation and wealth management needs of the donor; and they act as investment accounts in which funds are held for later distribution to charitable causes (Osili 2013: 27).

There are two other types of cause identified in the data considered by this section which like Giving Vehicles are not necessarily, specifically indicative of the ultimate cause benefited. Religious and Combined Organizations are third party organisations which themselves are vehicles for giving to a variety of causes. The series of reports do not define religious organisations with any specificity. Combined

Organizations, however, are described as specifically including United Way, United

Jewish Appeal, and Catholic Charities.

Giving to Youth or Family Services, Environment and Animal Care, and

International Causes are reported differently in different years. They are included as

“Other” giving in 2005. In 2007 giving to neighbourhood, veterans, and similar causes is also included as “Other” giving. Giving to Youth or Family Services, Environment and

Animal Care, and International Causes, however, are presented as separate categories by themselves and are not included in “other” giving for 2007.

Basic Needs are defined as “basic human needs such as food and shelter” in two of the reports (Osili 2010: 26; Rooney et al. 2009: 17); no definition is provided elsewhere in the Study of High Net Worth Philanthropy series.

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US gifts of a million dollars or more 2000 - 2011

The next dataset looks at philanthropic gifts of $1 million or more, made in the

US between 2000 and 2011(Osili 2013). The data is compiled from published sources described as, “public announcements, media outlets, reliable internet sources, and other publicly accessible sources” (Osili 2013: 52). The gifts identified are from individuals, foundations and corporate donors. The largest number of gifts are from foundations representing 43% of the total number of gifts. Individuals, however, although contributing slightly less in number (40%) gave 65% of the total value of these gifts compared with 25% from foundations. Corporate gave 40% of the number and just over

7% of their value. The report states that this statistic includes both gifts from corporate foundations and corporates (Osili 2013). The report does not make it clear whether, or to what extent, foundations comprise those that are under the control of individual philanthropists and their families or those that have non-family trustees and professional managers involved in giving decisions.

Figure B.2: Causes supported by US gifts of $1 million or more 2000- 2011

Percentage Value of $1M Plus Gifts

Foundations Higher Education Arts, Culture, and Humanities Health Education (Other) Public-Society Benefit Overseas Human Services International Environment Various Government Religion 0% 5% 10% 15% 20% 25% 30% 35% 40%

Source: Osili (2013: 14)

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The most apparent difference between the two datasets, the first based on household wealth the second on the size of gifts given, is that Religion appears near the top of Figure B.1 and the very bottom of Figure B.2. Excluding Religion, the top categories are consistent with the data presented by The Study of High Networth

Philanthropy for the years 2005 to 2013. At the top are Education, Giving

Vehicles/Foundations and Arts and Culture. In Figure B.1 for the first dataset, Education is shown as comprising higher education together with K-12 education; in Figure B.2 these are separated and suggests that by far the largest proportion of philanthropic support on the US is given to higher education. Foundations, in the second dataset, are explained as including corporate foundations, independent (also called private, which includes family) foundations, and operating foundations (Osili 2013: 53).135 The total and hence the ranking for Foundations includes the outlier case of the gift by Warren

Buffet in 2006 of $30 billion to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation (Osili 2013).

Without this gift, giving to Foundations would be ranked below Higher Education.

Another difference is that Combined Organizations, as described by the first dataset, are not included in the second. The category of Religion, in the second dataset, comprises:

…faith-based organizations whose primary mission is religion-related, such as religious services, education, research, or media. Examples of organizations included are churches, synagogues, religious schools, religious humanitarian aid organizations, and religious community centers (Osili 2013: 54).

This tighter definition including whose primary mission is religion-related would seem to exclude Religion as inclusive of being a vehicle for giving to a variety of causes.

135 For the avoidance of confusion please note that Osili (2013) treats gifts from corporate foundations as a component of corporate giving whereas corporate foundations are treated as a component of foundations when receiving gifts.

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Giving to other causes was assumed to be one of the functions of Religious

Organizations in the first data set.

US Gifts of a million dollars or more 2012 – 2015

The third dataset on US elite giving is a series of reports by Coutts & Co for the years 2012 to 2015 also reporting gifts in dollars or more (Coutts & Co 2013b, 2014b,

2015b, 2016b). These are the successors to the work by Osili (2013) described in the previous section and use the same methodology, whereby data is gathered from publicly available documents such as media coverage and charity annual reports and accounts. Notably, in this dataset Foundations drop in ranking from top to second and

Higher Education moves from second to top. Arts, Culture & Humanities move from third place to fifth. This is illustrated in Figure B.3. No explanation or analysis of this is offered in the reports.

Figure B.3: Causes supported by US gifts of $1 million or more 2012- 2015

Percentage Value of $1M Plus Gifts

Higher Education Foundations Public & Societal Benefit Health Arts, Culture & Humanities Overseas Education (Not Universities) Government International Human Services Religious Environment & Animals

0.0% 10.0% 20.0% 30.0% 40.0% 50.0%

Source: Coutts & Co (2013b, 2014b, 2015b, 2016b)

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UK Statistics on elite philanthropy

A series of publications are also available for the UK, reporting on donations of

£1 million or more, obtained from publicly available records similarly to the US data above (Breeze 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012; Coutts & Co 2013b, 2014a, 2015a, 2016a).

The findings related to the causes supported by wealthy donors are shown in summary form in Figure B.4.

Figure B.4: Causes supported by UK Gifts of £1 million or more 2007 -2017

Percentage Value of £1 M Plus Gifts

Foundations Higher Education Arts, Culture & Humanities Overseas International Health Human Services Public & Societal Benefit Education (Not Universities) Religious Environment & Animals Other Government 0% 5% 10% 15% 20% 25% 30% 35% 40%

Source: Breeze (2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012); Coutts & Co (2013a, 2014a,2015a, 2016a, 2017).

The categorisation of causes follows the same convention as the USA Million

Dollar Gifts and, although there is a slight change of nomenclature, the categories can be directly compared (Breeze 2008). The only exception to this is that beginning with the

2013 report (Coutts & Co 2013a) a change to the categories International and Overseas was made to bring the UK data in line with the US data. 136

136 Overseas from this report onwards refers to charities headquartered outside of the UK, regardless of the purpose of the gift; e.g., donations to schools and hospitals in North America. Previously this subsector referred to charitable activities outside of the UK other than those classified as international development.

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Treatment of Foundations

The data on million dollar gifts in both the US and the UK includes gifts from

Corporations and Foundations, as well as directly from Individuals. In the data from

2000 – 2011, Individuals were identified as giving the highest aggregate value of gift

(65%), followed by Foundations (25%) then Corporations (7%) (Osili 2013). The same pattern of the value of individual giving significantly exceeding gifts from foundations and corporations is continued in the remaining US data on million dollar gifts (Coutts &

Co 2013b, 2014b, 2015b, 2016b). None of these reports make it clear the extent to which these foundations are under the control of individual philanthropists.

For the UK, a breakdown showing the different proportions of giving by

Individuals, Foundations and Corporations from 2006/7 until 2010/11 showed

Individuals giving the highest number of donations over £1 million. These figures included Foundations created by and controlled by an individual as Individual Giving

(Coutts & Co 2013a). Subsequent to 2012137, all Foundations, whether controlled by their founding individual or not, are treated as Foundations. These changes are shown by the split between Tables B.1 and B.2 below.

Table B.1: Proportion of UK gifts made by Individuals, Foundations and Corporations 2006 - 2011

2006/7 2007/8 2008/9 2009/10 2010/11 Individuals 53% 51% 50% 46% 58% Foundations 35% 38% 39% 44% 26% Corporations 9% 11% 10% 10% 16%

137 A change in methodology occurred which changed the data collection period from ‘financial’ years to calendar years.

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Table B.2: Proportion of UK gifts made by Individuals, Foundations and Corporations 2012 - 2015

2012 2013 2014 2015 Individuals 22% 20% 17% 24% Foundations 71% 61% 65% 55% Corporations 7% 20% 18% 20%

There is a challenge inherent in understanding the final destination of gifts made to private foundations in that these are often tax efficient vehicles which are used by individuals and corporate donors as intermediaries for their giving. As Osili (2013) suggests, the money held in private foundations may be distributed to charitable causes in later years. In the UK reports from 2006/7 until 2010/11, the author also provided analysis of the part of the total value of donations which did not go directly to causes but were “banked” in tax-efficient Giving Vehicles such as charitable trusts and foundations, for distribution at a later date (Breeze 2008: 3). This analysis is shown in

Table B.3.

Table B.3: Proportion of UK gifts made directly to causes vs. to Giving Vehicles

2006/7 2007/8 2008/9 2009/10 2010/11 Direct 44% 58% 64% 48% 60% Banked 56% 42% 36% 52% 40%

The best assumption that can be made is that the gifts from private foundations are made to the same causes in similar proportions as the individuals who control them give from their privately held non-foundation funds. The findings from a decade of gifts over USD $1 million support this, as foundations were the either the most significant source or second most significant (in alternation to Individuals) of million-dollar-plus gifts made to higher education, other educational institutions, arts and culture and to health (Osili 2103). 377

Conclusion

The data described above, taken from quantitative reports on US and British elite philanthropy, support the argument that the causes favoured by the wealthy elite are significantly weighted to higher education, arts and culture, and health services. Caveats are offered regarding data shown for foundations, the assumption being that whilst they may be used for banking gifts by individuals and corporations the destination of these gifts reflects the overall trend. It needs to be noted that the data concerning elite giving to Religious Organisations is inconsistent among these datasets and the final destination of giving to religious organisations cannot be known. These caveats do not contradict the main finding above.

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Table B.4: Study of High Net Worth Philanthropy 2006 - 2016 in dollars ($USD)

K Environment & Giving VehiclesGiving Arts & Culture Youth/Family International Environment Combination - Animal care Necessities 12 Education Education Education Religious Disaster Services Animals Higher Other* Health Basic

Share of High Net Worth Charitable Dollars by Charitable Type (Pasic et al. 2018: 16) 2017 1% 19% 43% 9% 2% 4% 6% 5% 1% 4% 2% 3% 1%

Figure 7: Distribution of High Net Worth Dollars by Charitable Category (%) (Pasic et al. 2016: 18) 2015 27.90 36.10 7.40 3.40 8.40 4.00 3.10 1.60 0.90 4.60 2.10 0.50 % % % % % % % % % % % %

Figure 4: Distribution of High Net Worth Giving by Charitable Category in 2011 and 2013 (%) (Rooney et al. 2014: 16 ) 2013 3.30 12.20 3.40 4.60 22.90 4.10 4.10 0.90 5.40 3.50 6.10 1.40 28.00 % % % % % % % % % % % % % 2011 5.30 12.60 5.90 3.60 27.60 7.20 2.40 4.90 4.00 3.10 23.40 % % % % % % % % % % %

Figure 4: Distribution of High Net Worth Giving by Charitable Category in 2009 and 2011 (%) (Osili 2012: 16) 2011 5.30 13.30 5.90 3.60 27.60 7.20 2.40% 4.90 4.00 3.10 23.40 % % % % % % % % % % 2009 4.70 12.60 6.00 5.90% 19.30 8.80% 3.50% 7.50 6.30 2.80 22.10 % % % % % % % %

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Figure 21: Percent of Total Gift Dollars to Charitable Subsectors, 2005, 2007, and 2009 (%) (Osili 2010:35) 2009 4.70% 13.30 6.00 5.9 19.30 7.50 21.20 22.10 % % 0% % % % % 2007 3.70 14.60 10.40 6.80 27.10 4.20 16.70 16.50 % % % % % % % % 2005 3.60 16.60 6.40 4.80 25.80 13.20 4.90 24.70 % % % % % % % %

Figure 16: Percentage of Aggregate Donations to Charitable Subsectiors 2005 and 2007 (Rooney et al 2009: 27) 2007 3.7% 14.6% 10.4% 6.8% 27.1% 4.2% 16.5% 2005 3.6% 16.6% 6.4% 4.8% 25.8% 13.2% 24.7%

* imputed value, not in source

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Table B.5: Coutts Million Dollar Donors Report: Distribution of Milion Dollar Gifts in the US 2012 -2016

& Humanities International Environment Environment Universities) Arts, Culture Arts, Culture Foundations Government & Animals Education Education Education Religious Overseas Public & & Public Services Societal Societal Human Human Benefit Higher Health (Not (Not

Distribution across Subsectors in 2015 (Coutts & Co 2017a) 2016 $ Billions $0.43 $0.13 $0.55 $0.73 $0.54 $0.83 $0.18 $1.60 $1.15 $1.06 $3.57 $9.28 Gifts 55 17 114 14 21 131 18 167 179 115 16 $963

Distribution across Subsectors in 2014 (Coutts & Co 2015b) 2015 $ Billions $0.19 $0.03 $0.18 $0.23 $0.40 $0.44 $0.25 $1.16 $1.23 $1.19 $2.82 $5.94 Gifts 29 6 55 11 19 556 5 90 95 73 17 599

Distribution (Coutts & Co 2014b) 2014 $ Billions $0.14 $0.89 $0.36 $0.17 $0.39 $0.48 $2.14 $0.56 $1.11 $1.81 $2.03 $7.25 Gifts 28 8 88 26 11 94 29 102 116 96 11 529

Distribution across Subsectors in 2012 (Coutts & Co 2013a) 2013 $ Billions $0.35 $0.29 $0.28 $0.51 $0.35 $0.41 $0.36 $1.05 $0.94 $1.58 $1.58 $5.62 Gifts 37 8 93 54 11 98 58 124 122 127 14 604

TOTALS $ Billions $1.11 $1.34 $1.37 $1.64 $1.68 $2.16 $2.93 $4.37 $4.43 $5.64 $10.00 $28.09 Gifts 149 39 350 105 62 879 110 483 512 411 58 2695 381

Table B.6: Coutts Million Pound Donors Report: Distribution of Million Pound Gifts in the UK 2006 - 2015

Public & Societal Human Services Environment & Education (Not Arts, Culture & International Universities) Foundations Government Humanities Education Religious Overseas Animals Benefit Higher Health Other

Distribution across Subsectors in 2017 (Coutts & Co 2017) 2017 Millions £47 £15 £65 £23 £65 £94 £156 £30 £100 £656 £559 £17 Number 6 5 10 12 18 27 48 11 40 71 57 5

Distribution across Subsectors in 2016 (Coutts & Co 2016a) 2016 Millions £30 £14 £42 £13 £75 £46 £242 £88 £135 £639 £500 £2 Number 6 5 10 7 24 14 67 20 37 85 79 1

Distribution across Subsectors in 2015 (Coutts & Co 2015a) 2015 Millions £30 £14 £42 £13 £75 £46 £242 £88 £135 £639 £500 Number 6 5 10 7 24 14 67 20 37 85 79 Distribution across Subsectors in 2014 (Coutts & Co 2014a) 2014 Millions £41 £39 £27 £27 £45 £125 £66 £97 £45 £485 £565 Number 8 8 4 9 19 28 22 25 22 65 86

382

Higher Public &Public Societal Human Human Services Environment & Education Education (Not Arts, Culture & International Universities) Foundations Government Humanities Religious Overseas Animals Benefit Health Other Education

Distribution across Subsectors in 2013 (Coutts & Co 2013b) a, b 2013 Millions £22 £17 £19 £44 £56 £80 £50 £119 £91 £552 £308 Number 3 4 7 16 24 19 22 29 25 65 78

Distribution across Subsectors in 2012 (Coutts & Co 2013b) c,d 2012 Millions £3 £12 £66 £0 £13 £73 £215 £6 £95 £570 £273 £2 Number 1 6 18 0 10 12 39 3 20 47 20 1

Table 5: The Distribution of All Million Pound Donations in 2000 10/11 (Breeze 2012: 13) e, f 2010/11 Millions £4 £23 £18 £15 £18 £38 £17 £101 £109 £405 £494 Number 2 9 3 8 11 17 10 25 30 57 60

Table 4: The Distribution of All Million Pound Donations (Breeze 2011: 13) 2009/10 Millions £5 £7 £7 £17 £36 £44 £14 £143 £60 £299 £681 Number 1 2 3 9 5 18 7 25 21 43 40

383

Higher Education Public &Public Societal Human Human Environment & Education Education (Not Arts, Culture & International Universities) Foundations Government Humanities Religious Overseas Animals Benefit Health Other Services

8. The Distribution of All Million Pound Donations (Breeze 2010: 9) 2008/9 Millions £2 £13 £26 £45 £42 £91 £25 £53 £126 £575 £550 Number 2 6 7 10 20 19 10 16 24 66 21

The Distribution of Million Pound Donations (Breeze 2009: 9) 2007/8 Millions £18 £16 £5 £24 £26 £47 £16 £105 £239 £314 £597 Number 6 9 4 10 14 21 6 17 24 56 22

Figure 7: The Distribution of Million Pound Donations (Breeze 2008: 4) 2006/7 Millions £44 £26 £18 £30 £40 £97 £14 £81 £58 £297 £913 Number 10 5 11 16 22 22 4 15 22 45 21

TOTALS Millions £246 £195 £335 £251 £491 £780 £1,057 £911 £1,193 £5,431 £5,940 £2 £19 Number 51 64 87 104 191 211 302 206 302 685 563 1 6

384

385

Note a The International category here refers to funding for international development, regardless of the location of the recipient charity. b Overseas relates to recipients based in a country other than the UK. c International refers to funding for international development, which is in contrast to the other regions in the report, where it simply refers to charities based in the region which operate mainly outside that region. d Overseas refers to charities headquartered outside of the UK, regardless of the purpose of the gift e.g., donations to schools and hospitals in North America. Previously this subsector referred to charitable activities outside of the UK other than those classified as international development. e International Development refers to poverty-alleviating activity in developing countries f Overseas refers to charitable activity in countries outside the UK other than that classified as international development, for example, donations to schools and hospitals in Israel.

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APPENDIX C: SUGGESTED MOTIVATIONS FOR PHILANTHROPY IN INDIA

“…because corporate houses intervene in so Agarwal (2008: 14) many areas of social life, they must be responsible towards society and environment”. “… the impulse to give was inspired and Bornstein (2012: 46) E. (2012) Disquieting fettered by the social responsibility to change Gifts society”. “The new generation of philanthropists think Bukhari (2013: 50) India ‘not only can solve its own problems but should’.” "...feeling better about oneself, a sense of Cantegreil et al. (2013: 17) achievement, recognition or acknowledgment by society, access to powerful politicians, invitations to high-level events, etc.". "There is a realisation that business ultimately Dadrawala (2003: 9) helps itself by helping to solve societal problems". "...family, faith, social responsibility, John et al. (2013: 22) community, life change and connection with a cause". "A sense of social responsibility, whether John et al. (2013: 23) motivated by religion or secular humanism, is most often articulated as “giving back” to society. This may come from a sense of privilege (earned or inherited) or enlightened self-interest ". "Growing dissatisfaction with the Kalra (2013: 57) government’s ability to plan, implement and deliver improvements to the socio-economic wellbeing of Indians, together with the slow but sure realization that failure to address social challenges impacts their own growth and expansion in many ways, are leading corporations and business executives to step forward in order to make a difference. Many are setting up and funding activities that they believe are critical to making a signiﬁcant improvement to life in India". "Indian philanthropists, by and large, give the Kassam et al. (2016: 73) most to causes benefiting education, health care and livelihoods". Many of these new generation philanthropists Kassam et al. (2016: 72) explain their motivations in terms of having earned enough wealth and feeling at this time to 'give back'. “HNWIs are motivated to act philanthropically Kassam et al. (2016: 71) by a combination of personal compassion, guilt, forward-thinking, and risk management”.) Many engage in philanthropy simply because Kassam et al. (2016: 71) they derive joy and energy from it”. “For others, particularly older adults, there is Kassam et al. (2016: 71) an element of moral responsibility and social obligation: "we're not doing anyone a favour…

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We are simply giving back to society what we gained from them." In that sense, giving is simultaneously free and obligatory, altruistic and self-oriented”. “...the number one reason for engaging in Mahmood and Santos (2011: 9) philanthropy – cited by 42% of the people and organizations surveyed – was “ensuring the continuity of family values or creating a lasting legacy”. "Religious conviction and sensibilities are Mahmood and Santos (2011: 9) major motivators for Asian philanthropists". “… families in Asia have a range of Mahmood and Santos (2011: 16) motivations for their philanthropic activities. Some of these motivations have an outward focus, such as the desire to impact a particular community, address a social problem or achieve a pragmatic objective. Some of these motivations are somewhat more internalized, such as the desire to perpetuate family values or build cohesion within the family”. "the decision by families in Asia to support Mahmood and Santos (2011: 32) health related causes is in some cases linked to personal challenges and experiences”. “Religious and philosophical texts make it Majumdar (2015: 167) clear that individuals and families must engage in charitable activities—activities that do not provide for returns in terms of profits, food, or shelter, but do provide for returns for the soul and social acceptance”. "Five key influences... the most important to Maple and Harrison (2012: 39) donors was personal experiences; seven out of 10 donors mentioned this as a reason for giving. ‘Upbringing’ and ‘family values’ came a close second and third respectively, both being mentioned by nearly six out of 10 respondents. More than one in three cited ‘special occasions’ as a reason to give". "The deeds of the poor were met through the Oommen (2004: 220 - 221) charity extended by the relatively well-off members of society. However, the motivation behind charity was not so much the physical survival of the recipient in this world but the moral survival of the donor in the other world. That is, the material deprivation of the poor was unnecessary prerequisite for meeting the moral ends of the rich". Many of the case studies have shown that Quebral and Terol (2002 - 53) people often give because of the following: ◗ They are members (or volunteers) of the particular organization that is raising funds. ◗ They (or people they know of) have been helped by an organization and want to return the favor. ◗ They seek “immunity” from illnesses and donate their funds to a health related organization. ◗ They know an organization’s founder, its

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board members, or staff. ◗ The organization’s principal fund raiser or champion is a prominent person in society, and they want to earn his/her favor.

“…the primary motivation amongst India’s Reddy et al. (2012: 11) UHNWI is their desire to ‘give back’ to the community, be it at their place of work, stay or even where their family originated from. Next was their desire to contribute to a social or religious cause close to their heart. While many among the older business families have been influenced by the spirit of the Independence Movement and consider charitable giving part of their tradition, many of the newly wealthy give owing to a greater concern for social inequity." many businessmen, especially those who Sundar (2013: 312) have made it in the world recently, see in the endowment of an institution, the winning of an award for CSR or the setting up of a foundation a means of perpetuating the family or business name and of upward mobility in society”. "religious belief; guilt; a need for spiritual (Sundar 2013: 317) fulfilment not met by material success; a feeling of obligation to society; patriotism; a desire for social prestige and status; need to memorialise a loved one or a noted personality; response to a personal tragedy or natural calamity; government pressure; the lower of tax benefits, and so on". hospitals, schools and colleges have been Sundar (2013: 325) established to gain tax and run commercially rather than for reasons of altruism”. "...the underlying motivations, such as an Sundar (2017 165 - 167) instinctive desire to help the less fortunate, passion for a cause, wanting to make a difference, and to pay back a debt to society, as well as to have one's name or that of some dear one memorialised, remain unchanged. But getting out of the Nationalist fervour… has more or less disappeared". So has the religious motivation, even for secular purposes, especially in the case of large-scale giving, whereas in traditional philanthropy religion was a powerful motivating force". Saving taxes is a motivating but not a primary Sundar (2017: 167) factor (167)

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APPENDIX D: INSCRIPTIONS

# Inscription Period Reference i Inscription at Mathura refers to an c. 106 CE Majumdar 1920: 31 akshayanivi (perpetual endowment) of 550 pursipas each to two guilds, one of which was that of flour- makers. ii Inscription in a cave at Nasik 120 CE Majumdar 1920: 31 records the donation of 3000 Kārshāpaṇa by Ushavadata, son- in-law of the S’aka Chief Nahapana. The gift was intended for the benefit of the Buddhist monks dwelling in the cave, and the entire sum was invested in the guilds. iii Inscription at Nasik recording the c 250 CE Majumdar 1920: 32-33 investment of a perpetual endowment with four different guilds (these guilds were described by Majumadar as 1. probably potters; 2. probably workers fabricating hydraulic engines, water clocks or other; 3. also invested the guild of oil- millers; 4. another guild) to provide medicines for a community of monks. iv Inscription at Nagarjunikonda 333 CE Majumdar 1920: 33-34 refers to a permanent endowment created by a person for the maintenance of the religious establishments founded by him. The endowment consisted of a deposit of 70 dinaras in one guild and 10 each in three other guilds, out of the interest of which specific acts had to be done. Only names of two guilds are legible, a guild of sellers of betel leaves and the other of confectioners. v An inscription at Junnar records Majumdar 1920: 33-34 the investment of the income from two fields with a guild for planting Karaiija and banyan trees. vi An inscription at Junnar records Majumdar 1920: 33 the gift of a cave and water cistern by the guild of corn-dealers.

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vii Indore Copper-plate Inscription of 465 CE Majumdar 1920: 60 Skanda Guptal records the gift of an endowment, the interest of which is to be applied to the maintenance of a lamp which has been established in a temple for the service of the Sun-god: “this gift of a Brahmana’s endowment of (the temple of) the Sun (is) the perpetual property of the guild of oilmen,... as long as it continues in complete unity, (even) in moving away from this settlement”. viii Inscriptions in the Vishnu c. 800-1000 CE temple at Ukkal ix A deposit of an amount of gold Majumdar 1920: 145 with a particular Village Assembly from one of the commissioners ruling over another village on condition of using the interest to feed 12 Brahmanas, and other things. x An individual made over a plot of Majumdar 1920: 145 land to the Assembly on condition that it should be used for supplying a God with a stipulated quantity of rice. xi An individual purchased a plot of Majumdar 1920: 146 land from the Assembly and assigned it to the villagers for the maintenance of a flower garden. xii A plot of land was gifted to the Majumdar 1920: 146 Assembly on the condition paddy (rice) be supplied to those engaged in connection with a cistern the donor had constructed to supply water to the public. xiii A quantity of paddy deposited Majumdar 1920: 146 with the Assembly on condition they supply an amount of paddy per year (to whom not specified). xiv The Assembly accepted the gift of Majumdar 1920: 147 an amount of paddy on condition of feeding two Brahmanas daily out of the interest.

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xv An individual is assigned a plot of Majumdar 1920: 148 land in the neighbourhood, from the proceeds of which water and fire pails had to be supplied to a mandapa (temple pavilion) frequented by Brahmanas, and a water lever (presumably something like a faucet) constructed in front of the cistern at the mandapa. Other Ukkal Inscriptions c 900 CE xvi Assembly expressed their Majumdar 1920: 181 gratification at the charitable act of a private individual and exempted him from the payment of certain taxes. xvii An endowment by private Majumdar 1920: 181 individual provided for the upkeep of a ‘second boat’ on a local tank (reservoir) which was to be employed for removing silt. xviii An inscription records that the Majumdar 1920: 181 Village Assembly of Uttaramallur accepted an endowment and undertook to arrange for the removal of silt every month from the local tank (reservoir). xix An inscription refers to the grant 774-775 CE Majumdar 1920: 154 (donor unspecified) of a village to the 300 Mahajanas of another village for the maintenance of the cult of Ramesvara (Siva) in a third locality. xx Inscription refers to deposits made c.850 CE Majumdar 1920: 188 by King Varaguna with 17 Village Assemblies to supply the annual requirements of a temple in their locality. xxi An inscription in the 959 CE Majumdar 1920: 188 neighbourhood of Madras, records a gift of one hundred gold Nishkas, bearing interest at the rate of three Mashas per Nishka per year, to a Village Assembly for conducting a special service in a local temple on a particular day every year. A long list is given of the articles to be supplied and of cooks and menials to be employed.

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xxii An inscription records two grants c. 907–955 Majumdar 1920: 188 of the Chola king Parantaka I of the deposit of money by his daughter with the Assemblies of two villages for daily supply of oil to a local temple. A fine was to be paid for every day of default. xxiii Inscription refers to the gift of a 1008–1015 CE Majumdar 1920: 154 village to 104 Mahajanas with the conditions of enjoyment by the donor, the Mahajanas and the people of the village. xxiv The gift (donor unspecified) of a 1053-4 CE Majumdar 1920: 153 garden, a wet field, five houses and one oil-mill for the worship of Jina by 120 Mahajanas (village leaders) of Rachchuru. xxv An inscription registers the gift of c. 1110 CE Majumdar 1920: 155 a house-site and income derived from several kinds of cess by the Mahajanas to the God Nagesvara outside the village. xxvi An inscription of the Chalukya king 1112 CE Majumdar 1920: 155 Tribhuvanamalla granting an entire village for the supply of materials for offerings, food-gifts, alms, and festival cloths for the God, the Lord Mahadeva, of the Agrahara village and this property was delivered “into the hands of the Sheriff of the great Agrahgra village and the rest of the four hundred Mahajanas” who are described as endowed with all conceivable virtues, including a knowledge of the Vedas. South Indian Inscriptions No dates given xxvii A Tamil inscription records the gift Majumdar 1920: 189 of a piece of land to an Assembly on condition that they should burn a lamp in a local temple. The supervision of the charity was entrusted to ‘the Annual Tank Supervision Committee.’

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xxviii A merchant made over a sum of Majumdar 1920: 190 money to the residents of Taiyiir on condition that they should pay interest in oil and paddy to the Assembly of Tiruvidavandai for burning a lamp in the temple and feeding 35 Brahmanas. xxix Two inscriptions at Tirunmanallur Majumdar 1920: 190 refer to the gift of 100 “undying” and “unaged sheep to the Assembly on condition of supplying a stipulated quantity of ghee for burning lamps in the local temple. The adjectives ‘unaged’ and ‘undying’ mean that sheep which died or ceased to supply milk had to be replaced by others.

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APPENDIX E: REVIEW OF INDIAN PRESS IN 2011

There is very little academic literature dealing with philanthropy in India.

However, there has been a great deal of recent contemporary press coverage including interviews with some of India’s high net worth individual (HNWI) philanthropists. The visit by Bill Gates and Warren Buffet to India in March 2011, as part of their ‘Giving

Pledge’ campaign to encourage HNWI philanthropy was the spur for considerable press interest during the year.

This paper provides a review of this press coverage. The press articles discussed have all been obtained from the internet and are limited to the English language Indian press and some international sources. I have identified and reviewed 144 items which refer to philanthropy. Happily, two publications - Livemint 138 and The Economic Times

139 published series of articles specifically focusing on philanthropy around the time of the visit of Gates and Buffet. These consisted of 47 and 25 individual articles respectively.

This review of these articles is organised into the following headings:

● History and tradition

● Statistics, demography and wealth distribution

● Types of philanthropy

● Areas of giving

138 Online version of Mint, India’s second largest English language business paper

139 India's largest English language business paper

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● Motivations for Philanthropy

● Obstacles and challenges

Together the articles give a valuable overview of philanthropy, especially HNWI philanthropy in India today.

History and Tradition

India is a country with a long tradition of charity, whetherSamadhi (the last stage of life when, after having sought prosperity, one gives away all possessions as a step to enlightenment) or giving alms and tithe (giving ten percent of your income away to the poor). There is also a strong culture of giving to one’s immediate family and supporting the families of domestic help. It would be unfair to say that many of the rich in India don’t donate to countless charities and religious institutions. They do and without the generous tax incentives offered in many other countries (Reuters 2011).

Philanthropy is not a new phenomenon in India. Bill Gates, the stimulus of much of the discussion in these 147 articles acknowledges that “India has a remarkable tradition of giving and it was an honour to meet with those families who talked quite enthusiastically about their own approach to philanthropy”(Dhar 2011).

Several articles acknowledge the long tradition of philanthropy in India

(Economic Times 2011c; Edwards 2011; Nair 2011; Nilekani 2010; Srivastava and

Tandon 2002; Wax 2010). Writing her own column, a Congress MP, Jayanthi Natarajan notes that, “The concept of giving and sharing is at the foundation of our social fabric” and that “be it business corporations, feudal families or individual homes, our people have never been reluctant to give to the less privileged”(Natarajan 2011). “As in the US,

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philanthropy, whether corporate or individual, has never been in short supply in India,” says another article (Business Standard 2011).

However, commenting on the current high profile of philanthropy caused not only by Gates and Buffet but also a highly publicized $2 billion pledge by Azim Premji, one of India’s richest men, one writer laments, “Though charity has a hoary past in

India, there is little public discourse on it” (Sundar 2011). This may explain a comment made by one of India’s business leaders, Mohandas Pai 140 that, "In India there is a tremendous tradition of giving, but it's big among corporates and not so much among individuals. At an individual level it is relatively new and has to increase" (Economic

Times 2011b).

Ramachandra Guha, the eminent Indian historian, proposes there are three phases in modern Indian philanthropy. The first was in the nineteenth century; the next the era of the struggle for and early independence; finally, the era of economic liberalization of the 1980s and 90s (Guha 2010).

The foundations on which much prominent philanthropy in India today rest in the nineteenth century. Many of the names of the families who built the great institutions and public infrastructure of that era remain prominent today. The Tata name remains well known for philanthropy more than a century after its founder began established the first of several eponymous family foundations. Other families still active in philanthropy today are Bajaj, Birla and Godrej (Bishop 2011; Gandhi 2011; Nelson

140 Mohandas Pai is a director of Infosys

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2009; Nichenametla 2010; Nilekani 2010; Yuen 2011a).

Other celebrated nineteenth century philanthropists whose legacy from the first phase include hospitals, schools, markets, parks and roads are Bajaj (DNA 2011; Gandhi

2011; Nilekani 2010), Bahaba (Guha 2010), Jeejeebhoy (Guha 2010; Politzer 2011a),

Jehangir (Guha 2010), Sassoon (DNA 2011; Guha 2010; Politzer 2011a), Marwari,

Nathubai, Sarabhai and Tejpal (DNA 2011).

The second phase of modern Indian philanthropy, according to Guha (2010), is that associated with Mahatma Gandhi and the independence movement. The names of the successful industrialists of the time most prominent in the support of Gandhi are

Bajaj, Sarabhai and Birla (DNA 2011; Guha 2011; Nilekani 2010).

Guha’s (2010) second phase, the era around Independence when it came in

1947, came at a huge cost. The British colonial government was reeling from the

Second World War and rapidly divesting its empire. India was poor and undeveloped.

Independence was accompanied by two massive disruptions, one political the other natural, both which cost millions of lives - the bloody partition of former Imperial India into two independent nations, Pakistan and India; and a famine in Bengal (Balachander

2011).

In the difficult post independence era that followed, the tradition of philanthropy by the wealthy Industrial families weakened and was replaced by international aid from

NGOs such as the Ford and Rockefeller Foundations (Balachander 2011). Government

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policy, especially during the period under the socialist leadership of Indira Gandhi 141 mitigated against the accumulation of wealth and, hence, the tradition of philanthropy by the wealthy. Licensing and control leading to low economic growth (Mittal 2011) and a marginal tax rate that reached 97.5% are seen especially as the “killers” of philanthropy (Economic Times 2011b, c; Livemint 2011; Mittal 2011; Rajadhyaksha

2011b).

Guha’s (2010) third phase of modern philanthropy begins in during the 1980s, when economic policies were liberalized (Mittal 2011), equity prices soared and, the cumbersome tax codes and high tax of the socialist era were relaxed (Rajadhyaksha

2011b). This third phase has been, in part, led by the success of the IT industry and the emergence of a new entrepreneurial wealth of which Sunil Mittal, Azim Premji and the co-founders of Infosys are examples (DNA 2011; Guha 2010).

Something is surely afoot when Bill Gates is quoted as remarking that “India could soon be the world’s second most philanthropic nation, after America” (Bishop

2011) and, also, says, “It is clear that there is some great thing going on about [Indian] philanthropy,” (Dhar 2011). Nitin Nohria, Bombay IIT educated (Chhapia and

Ghaswalla 2010) Indian born, Dean of Harvard’s Business School is among others who see positive signs of philanthropy in India (Economic Times 2011c; Rajadhyaksha

2011b). It remains to be seen whether this new phase becomes a fourth stage of modern Indian philanthropy.

141 Note that Indira and subsequent prominent Gandhis are unrelated to Mahatma Gandhi

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Thomas Carlyle remarked that history consisted of the study of great men

(Carlyle 1888). Guha’s (2010) three phases and the articles of other commentators cited above follow that precept by giving the names of great philanthropists and philanthropic families. Yet it would be wrong only to focus on the philanthropy only of the great and ignore trends in the rest of society. Less wealthy and less great Indians are also philanthropic (Beckett 2009; Chandan 2011). In 2010 India became the first

BRIC country to be ranked a major donor by Save the Children (Ved 2011).

Statistics, demography and wealth distribution

Further evidence of growing philanthropy in India is given by the number of charitable institutions that exist in India. There are possibly more NGOs registered in

India than any country in the world (Politzer 2011b) and these have grown almost tenfold since 1970 (Shulka 2010). The most authoritative survey has been undertaken by the Indian Government which looked at entities registered under Societies

Registration Act,1860 or the Mumbai Public Trust Act and its variants in other states.

The survey puts the number at around 3.3 million (Chandan 2011; Shulka 2010).

There are, additionally, NGOs registered under other regulatory frameworks

(Shulka 2010). In Mumbai, for example, there are more than 7,200 religious trusts

(Narain 2011); and in the whole state of Maharashtra itself, there may be as many as 5-6 million registered trusts the majority registered for religious purposes” (Rao 2011a).

Press articles provide an indication of measures for philanthropy that are significant and growing. One such reports:

At the turn of 21st century, a survey had shown that more than 40% of the

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households in India make philanthropic donations regularly. Interesting trends from that survey showed that the poor and less educated from rural areas make such donations as regularly as rich professionals from urban areas. On the basis of that survey data, it can be now estimated that Indians make donations to “charitable causes” worth Rs. 16,000 crore per annum these days (PRIA survey: Invisible, Yet Widespread, 2002 cited by Srivastava and Tandon 2002).

One article reports (without citing any source) that private donations in India

“stand at 0.6 per cent of the gross domestic product (GDP), higher than China (0.1 per cent) and Brazil (0.3 per cent). However, they lag behind those in the US (2.2 per cent) and the UK (1.3 per cent)” (Rao 2011a). Others cite a 2011 report by Bain & Company

(Sheth and Singhal 2011) that notes philanthropic giving has risen by 50% from 2006 to around 0.4% of GDP (Ghosh 2011b; Indian Express 2011; Satish Kumar 2011).

Another article attributes to a study by Johns Hopkins Comparative Non-profit Sector

Project a figure of 0.4% of GDP (Subramaniam 2011).

It is also noted that this level compares unfavorably with 2% in the US

(Subramaniam 2011); yet favorably with other BRIC countries, “such as Brazil and

China given the comparable socio-economic environments where contributions account for 0.3 and 0.1% of GDP, respectively” (Mittal 2011). A report by a firm of wealth managers offers a different but interesting comparison: “Only 26% of [India’s] millionaires rank philanthropy among their top three spending priorities… in comparison, 41% of US millionaires put philanthropy up there” (Barclays Wealth

Survey quooted in Livemint 2010).

The authors of the Bain & Company (Sheth and Singhal 2011) report mentioned say in an interview, “We’ve seen significant momentum in 2010 and 2011 in private philanthropic giving. In fact, philanthropic giving has risen by 50% from 2006, which is

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a tremendous increase and there are a number of underlying reasons that are driving that growth in giving in India” (Satish Kumar 2011).

An article mentioning what it only describes as “an internal study by a leading foreign NGO headquartered in the UK” gives some monetary values. It suggests,

“donations by individuals are expected to have grown from around Rs 2,200 crore [Rs

220,000,000] in 2005 to Rs 8,100 crore [Rs 810,000,000] by a conservative estimate, and to around Rs 21,000 crore [Rs 2,100,000,000] by more liberal estimates”(Shulka

2010).

No discussion of philanthropy in India can avoid the reality of the vast discrepancy between wealth and poverty. “The way a wealthy banker walks on the same sidewalk in Mumbai along which a poor family with no clothes uses gutter water to wash themselves in India is unique,” says Pierre Omidyar, founder-chairman of eBay

(quoted by Pawar 2011). India sits among the poorest third of the world’s countries and will fall short of meeting its UN Millennium Development goals (Balachander 2011).

Around 450 million (or just under 40%) of her population live in poverty (Scrutton and

Kuncheria 2011).

Yet it is the figures about wealth that excite the press. The 2011 World Wealth

Report by Capgemini and Merrill Lynch is cited as placing India in the “top 12' countries with the highest number of rich people” (Karunakaran 2011). India has around 50 billionaires (Gandhi 2011; Scrutton and Kuncheria 2011; Wharton School 2011). Six of these are numbered by Forbes among the world’s top 50 (Cited by Scrutton and

Kuncheria 2011). In addition, in India there are over 100,000 dollar millionaires

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(Gandhi 2011); 153,000 HNWIs (High Net Worth Individuals142) (World Wealth Report

2011 cited by Karunakaran 2011); and 657 rupee billionaires (Wharton School 2011).

Another report, the Top of the Pyramid by Kotak Wealth Management predicts that the total net worth of India's UHNWI (ultra high net worth) defined as more than

Rs 250 million (US $5 million) will reach Rs 235 trillion (US $4.5 trillion) by 2015-16 from an estimated Rs 45 trillion (US $0.9 trillion) in 2010 (Cited in Karunakaran 2011).

143

Yet another report by wealth managers, Julius Baer are cited predicting “India would more than double the number of US dollar millionaires to 403,000 by 2015” (TOI

2011a). A comparison among Asian developing nations taken from the same report reveals the following table:

Country No of Millionaires (000s) Wealth of Millionaires ($1B )

China 1378 8764

India 403 2465

South Korea 310 1074

Taiwan 136 393

Hong Kong 131 711

142 HNWIs are defined by the World Wealth Report 2011 as those having investable assets of US$1 million or more, excluding primary residence, collectibles, consumables, and consumer durables.

143 In contrast to Top of the Pyramid, World Wealth Report 2011 define UHNWIs as having investable assets of $US30 million or more.

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Singapore 129 916

Thailand 128 609

Indonesia 99 487

Malaysia 68 329

Philippines 38 164

(Source: India will have 403,000 millionaires by 2015: Report 2011)

A matter of significance in a discussion of philanthropy in India is the ownership and control of wealth and the means of wealth creation. As noted above some of the old wealthy families of India - the Birlas, Bajajas, Godrejs and Tatas continue their philanthropy to this very day(Bishop 2011; Business Standard 2011; Gandhi 2011;

Ghose 2010; Guha 2010; Mittal 2011; Nelson 2009; Nichenametla 2010; Nilekani 2010;

Yuen 2011a). The families named in the last paragraph continue to control massive business groups founded in the nineteenth century by their forbears. Even the very largest businesses in India are for the most part family owned (Economic Times 2011b, d; Poduwal 2010).

As a result of family wealth and corporate India being entwined it is difficult to disentangle the conversation about philanthropy from a wider conversation about CSR.

The entanglement is illustrated by both the following quote and the title of the article:

“… our known corporate philanthropists like the Tatas, Birlas or Bajajs and so on”

(Business Standard 2011). Likewise, this statement and the title of the article: “Aditya

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Birla Group's giving is symbolised by the Aditya Birla Centre for Community Initiatives and Rural Development, headed by Mrs Birla, largely funded by companies in the Birla stable”(Economic Times 2011d). Even the co-author of a popular recent study of modern philanthropy conflates philanthropy (viz. a culture of giving influenced by religion) with CSR: “India…has always had a culture of giving, both out of religious commitment and as a sense of corporate social responsibility that in some cases—most notably the Tata group—stretches back over a century”(Bishop 2011).

Types of Philanthropy

One distinction can be made by comparing the philanthropic tradition of the older wealthy industrial families and comparing it with the philanthropy of more recently emergent wealth. The long established groups developed a tradition of benign self interest (familiar to British Victorian philanthropists like the Cadburys, Rowntrees and Leverhulmes144) of supporting housing, health, welfare and religious buildings in the areas where they had their plants and factories (Biswas 2010; Economic Times

2011d; Macrae 2010).

Some of these old industrial families have set up family foundations or trusts, such as the Sir Dorabji Tata Trust and the Sir Ratan Tata Trust independent of the family business. The Chairman of the Godrej Group, Adi Godrej, for example, says that he has kept philanthropy a family activity, away from the companies the family controls, “ because the companies have minority shareholders” (Bhan 2010). Anand Mahindra, makes the distinction between corporate interests and personal in his decision to give

144 See Bishop & Green 2010, p 182-83.

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$10 million to Harvard: “It was a personal donation as the institution had helped me when I was a student… if I have to spend company money, I will think about how I will justify it to my shareholders” (Pawar 2011). However, for other family owned corporations philanthropic decisions remain family decisions: “Corporate social responsibility (CSR) initiatives of group companies are generally seen and treated as their own giving, with wives, daughters, or relatives at the helm” (Economic Times

2011d).

Some newer industrialists are now looking through longer, wider angle lens past the boundaries of their own factory towns. And some, though not all, are beginning to adopt more strategic approaches. For example, one new industrialist, Mukesh

Ambani145, has said. "CSR (corporate social responsibility) has to be an integral part of every business. Businesses should be measured on social returns together with financial returns" (Times 2011). And the citation for the award of Philanthropist of the Year to another new industrialist, Sunil Mittal, was for “a vision of empowering rural communities across India” (Hindu 2010): that is, not merely limiting his wealth to the hub of his business empire. Mittal himself in a press article describes the wider “wealth creation and management” role corporations are entrusted with (Mittal 2011).

Many commentators agree that corporate philanthropy is much bigger today than previously (Bhan 2010; Business Standard 2011; Chandan 2011; Economic Times

2011b; Murugesh 2010; Poduwal 2010; Sundar 2011). The widely cited Bain & Co

Report puts total corporate philanthropic activity at $1.5 billion in 2011, a greater than

145 Mukesh Ambani is Chairman and Managing Director of Reliance Industries.

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five-fold increase from 2006 (Sheth and Singhal 2011 cited in Satish Kumar 2011).

Nevertheless, according to an unnamed study by a foreign NGO, philanthropy as a percentage (less than one) of total corporate profit lags the UK and US (two percent)

(Shulka 2010). There has been political pressure corporates to give more (Ray 2009) including a parliamentary bill to impose a compulsory level at 2 per cent (Ved 2011).

A distinction can be made between corporate philanthropy as distinct from what is considered globally to be corporate social responsibility (CSR), which has as its emphasis the so called “triple bottom line” (Agarwal 2011; Sundar 2011).

Areas of Giving

Statistics on areas of giving excepting those obtained anecdotally from press coverage such as that surveyed here are hard to obtain. In 1999 The Indian Centre for

Philanthropy surveyed 104 Indian donors. Education was funded by 81 of these; medicine and health by 57; followed by conservation and environment by16; then art and culture by13; and science and technology by 12 (Rajadhyaksha 2011b)

Consistent with these figures it has been education that receives most coverage as the focus of Indian philanthropy. In the 1950s and 60s, the old wealth of the Birlas and Tatas was engaged in setting up educational and cultural institutions (Ghose 2010).

However, more recently and controversially it has been gifts to the overseas alma maters of philanthropists that have caught attention - $5.2 million to Harvard to establish the Murty Classical Library of India; $5 million from the Nilekanis for the Yale

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India Initiative; Ratan Tata’s $50 million to Cornell146; Anand Mahindra’s $10 million to

Harvard; and the Ambani brothers have given to Stanford and Wharton respectively.

(Kumar and Yu 2010; Narayan 2010b; Pawar 2011; Yuen 2011b).

Other Indian philanthropists have poured money into setting up entire new universities in India. The eponymous Thapar University in the Punjab was founded by an individual’s philanthropy more than 50 years ago and the family still funds it today

(Beckett, P 2009). Azim Premji has funded the first university in India exclusively offering post graduate courses in education (Politzer 2011a; Wharton School 2011). The Shiv Nadar Foundation has announced an investment in a university to be named for Shiv Nadar (Rawat 2011).

Mohander Agarwal has publicly committed $1 billion toward, though yet to build,

Vedanta University in Orissa (Nichenametla 2010)

The IITs (Indian Institutes of Technology), seven prestigous tertiary schools in major centres, have been the recipients of philanthropy from prominent alumni. The

Nilekanis donated $2.7 million and Victor Menezes donated $3 million to IIT Bombay

(Mishra 2011). Prabha Kant Sinha made a similar donation to IIT Kharagpur (ibid.).

Other examples of philanthropy to tertiary education and research are Shiv

Nadar to an engineering college in Chennai (Beckett 2009; Rawat 2011); and the

Nilekani donation to the Indian Institute for Human Settlements (Hindu 2011).

Industrialist GM Rao through his GMR Varalakshmi Foundation focuses on education

146 Tata has also given $50 million to Harvard.

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and vocational training for the underprivileged” (Khan 2011).

Sunil Mittal (Economic Times 2010; Ray 2009), Shiv Nadar (Beckett 2009; Rawat

2011), Azim Premji (Ghose 2010; TOI 2011b) and N. Vaghul (Jenkins 2011d) are all reported as contributors to schools for underprivileged children. This is a break from the traditional philanthropy of older wealth, whose funding was for the schools for children of their employees.

An area of giving related to education that also attracts attention in India is support for girls (Ghosh 2011a; Jenkins 2011f). As one philanthropist states, “I would give to the girl child if I had to choose only one cause. She’s the future; unless women are holding up half the sky with their hands, India won’t progress sufficiently. The quicker they get educated, the more they won’t allow their daughters to lead the same sorry lives” (Zia Mody quoted by Jenkins (2011f)).147

After education, health is perceived as the next largest field for philanthropic support (Jenkins 2011b; Rajadhyaksha 2011b).One well known and visible philanthropist has focused especially on water (Jenkins 2011e; Pandeya 2011; Wharton

School 2011)

Arts and culture, which are significantly supported through philanthropy in the

US and other western cultures, also receive support in India, if not as much in comparison with education and health.(Ghose 2010; Jenkins 2011a, b; Rajadhyaksha

147 Zia Mody is a prominent Indian legal consultant and an active member of the Bahá'í faith.

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2011b). Other areas of philanthropy that gain mention are people with disabilities

(Kher 2010; Narayan 2009; Politzer 2011a)(Kand encouraging entrepreneurship

(Politzer 2011a).

As well as the above broadly defined areas of giving, much philanthropy in India is ad hoc. It is well-meaning but not systematic (Karunakaran 2011; Narayan 2009).

Calamitous events such as tsunamis, floods and earthquakes attract donations in large amounts (Karunakaran 2011; Natarajan 2011; Pasricha 2010). Many Indians give to their immediate environments - to the family members, families of servants, the village beggars and local shrines, temples or churches (Beckett 2009; Gandhi 2011; Macrae

2010; Natarajan 2011; Pasricha 2010; Wax 2010). Ritual religious giving is significant

(Ghose 2010; Karnik 2010); especially among the rich (Dhillon 2011). Communal charity is another feature, that is giving to one’s own religious group or sect (Guha

2010). Business, too, gives to its own immediate local interests (Economic Times

2011d).

Motivations for Philanthropy

What are the motivations that lead to philanthropy in India? Philanthropy is encouraged in most of the world’s religions. As the focus of most of the articles is on

India’s HNWIs unsurprisingly another element is their attitude and response to wealth: the responsibility of wealth and the notion of ‘trusteeship’. Enhancing personal or corporate profile has been mentioned above as a motivation for some gifts. Other concepts that emerge are the influence of parents and peers; and, passion and enthusiasm for a cause.

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India abounds with temples and shrines and religion and religious institutions may be a principle driver of the tradition of giving as is argued in an article noting how shifts are occurring in religous institutions strategies toward philanthropy (Narain

2011). “The giver of wealth is God” states Rakesh Jhunjihunwalla (Economic Times

2011a). God in India takes many forms, expressed through many religions. Concepts of philanthropy exist in all the major religions of India including Hinduism, Islam and

Buddhism (Ramachandran 2010; Wax 2010). The Hindu concepts of daan or dana and sewa that relate to sharing, giving and selflessness are widely recognised across the nation (Gandhi 2011; Nilekani 2010). It may be that philanthropists “seek to procure their personal salvation” (Dhillon 2011), though this is not a widely described view.

However, the writer quoted below and others argue that not all the traditions and values of all religions are the same or interchangeable:

The thing with philanthropy, or CSR, is that the basis is religious and cultural.Charity, as like [sic] giving money and resources to the less privileged without aims or returns in mind, is fundamentally a Christian concept. Islam institutionalises charity, but in a more egalitarian fashion - possibly the least patronising, globally. Building temples and investing in an afterlife is a tenet of religions that believe in reincarnation or afterlives, like Hindus, Buddhists and Confucians. In these traditions, giving involves creating opportunities for the less privileged to advance their own destiny, not bearing their burden (Economic Times 2011e).

Hinduism maybe less philanthropic because of a notion called gupt dhana which encourages concealing wealth (Ghose 2010; Guha 2010) and because of “a belief in karma” (Ghose 2010), though this also applies to other religions (Economic Times

2011e). An exception to this supposed reluctance to give were the wealthy business leaders who helped fund Mahatma Gandhi. However, says one commentator, “Since

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Gandhi himself was deeply influenced by Christian traditions of charity and social justice, in acting as they did, they were themselves being somewhat un-bania-like”(Guha

2010).148

Parsis, of which the Tata name represents one renowned philanthropic family, have a rich tradition of giving (Gandhi 2011; Guha 2010). Jains and Jews also have been willing to contribute to society (Guha, R 2010). Azim Premji, who has made India’s largest philanthropic gift to date is a Muslim (Ghose 2010; Guha 2010). The 2001 census of India’s 1.02 billion population, gives the proportion of Hindus as 80.5%,

Muslims 13.4%, Christians 2.3%, and Sikhs 1.9%” (Narain 2011).

"If you don't want to buy airplanes or diamonds, what are you going to do with your wealth?" asks Rohini Nilekani (quoted by Walsh 2006). Nilekani who is also well known as a commentator on philanthropy and she expresses in her own words variations of the dictum that with great wealth comes great responsibility (Nilekani

2010, 2011b). She and others see this responsibility in social terms: wealth is to be used for “good social purpose” (Rakesh Jhunjhunwala quoted in Economic Times

2011a); “having wealth comes with a responsibility towards the less fortunate”(Pandit

2011); and, “[wealth] is useful if spent in our lifetime” (Amit Chandra quoted in Kher

2010). 149

Another concept that is understood in India and often attributed to Mahatma

148 An occupational caste of bankers, money-lenders, dealers in grains, spices and in modern times numerous commercial enterprises.

149 Amit Chandra was a former managing director of DSP Merrill Lynch.

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Gandhi is that of trusteeship. It is that the responsibility of ownership of family property and of business is as a trust for others (Mahindra 2011; Rao 2011b; Ved 2011).

Ved (2011)traces the concept of trusteeship to Hindu scripture, Bhagavad Gita.

Azim Premji is quoted, “Thus, the only way I understand this wealth is something that is entrusted to me for which I am playing the role of a trustee. As a trustee, I feel, wealth must have a definitive social purpose” (TOI 2011b). Another businessman says, “Wealth is truly created when a person leaves a lasting legacy behind” (Subroto Bagchi quoted in Forbes India 2010). 150

Philanthropy can be motivated by a need for visibility and influence (Kumar and

Yu 2010). "People who donate generously experience a significant quantum jump in their public image” (Poduwal 2010). Variations on the theme are simply announcing you have arrived (Narayan 2010b) and atoning for a guilty conscience (Bishop 2011).

In business, self interest is never far away: "Giving back to society and helping society get better so that your business ultimately flourishes even better in the long- term” is how one business owner describes corporate philanthropy (Adi Godrej quoted in Bhan 2010). 151 A driver for corporate philanthropy is building the brand (Bhan

2010; Business Standard 2011; Karnik 2010; Nilekani 2011a)–an example is given where a gift to Harvard by the Tata Group founder, Ratan Tata, was “a way to establish

150 Subroto Bagchi is vice-chairman of Mindtree Ltd.

151 Adi Godrej is a director of Godrej Industries.

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the Tata name in a global context” (Fareed Zakaria quoted in Kumar and Yu 2010). 152

Other drivers include business sustainability (Poduwal 2010; Sundar 2011); and, shoring up corporate “license to operate” viz. political and governmental support)

(Nilekani 2011a).

Some philanthropy is about passion for a cause (Neera Nundy quoted in Jenkins

2011b) 153; or for a cause that is close to the donor’s heart (Subramaniam 2011).

Sometimes it is because of the philanthropist’s own experience of the challenges being remedied (Kher 2010; Poduwal 2010). Even those giving to foreign universities are likely to do so because of a personal connection (Narayan 2010b).

Some philanthropists talk about a member of their family as being the inspiration for their philanthropy. Rana Kapoor (Economic Times 2011b) 154 and Jhunjhunwala

(Dhillon 2011; Economic Times 2011a) refer to their fathers. The father of

Jhunjhunwala had himself benefited from the philanthropy of a complete stranger

(Forbes India 2011). Premji cites his maternal granfather’s service to society as his model (TOI 2011b). Kalpana Morparia describes the sacrifices of a widowed mother determined to give her daughters an education as the motive for her own educational philanthropy (Jenkins 2011c). 155

152 Fareed Zakaria is an Indian – American journalist and writer.

153 Neera Nundy is the co-founder of Dasra.

154 Rana Kapoor is founder and managing director of YES Bank.

155 Kalpana Morparia is chief executive of JPMorgan Chase and Co. in India.

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Challenges and Obstacles

It is clear from the press coverage that philanthropy is significant in India and is growing. Yet there are obstacles and challenges ahead. These can be broadly identified as relating to trust and transparency, professionalism and the philanthropic infrastructure, the tax system and, lastly, attitudes to wealth, inheritance and security

It is a popular theme in India generally that the biggest problem the nation has to confront is not poverty but corruption. Corruption permeates politics, law and order and business. And it is seen as a factor inhibiting the growth of philanthropy (Livemint

2011; Nichenametla 2010).

This fear of corruption leads to a “mistrust” of the social sector that works against more giving (Politzer 2011b). Alternatively trust is weak owing to a perceived or real information gap regarding the organisations seeking philanthropic funds

(Agarwal 2011; Forbes India 2010; Jenkins 2011d; Mahindra 2011; Pandeya 2011).

Chandrajit Banerjee, the Director General of the Confederation of Industries calls for an efficient mechanism to ensure that donations are used “for the right cause, in the right manner” (Poduwal 2010). Sonia Gandhi, the leader of the ruling Congress political party, and others call for more transparency from charitable organisations (Beckett

2009; Gandhi 2011; Rao 2011a).

An official in India’s second most populated state, Maharashtra, speaking of complaints filed on charities says:

[The] Majority of the complaints are about improper functioning of trusts,

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especially in terms of spending the collected funds. Following up on donations is very essential. A proper progress reporting format is what we are trying to get all NGOs to follow, so that the donor can see what his money is achieving (Rao 2011a).

What is required is more professionalism in an environment with the right mechanisms to increase trust in philanthropy (Gandhi 2011; Kothari 2011; Mittal 2011;

Wax 2010). There is a spectrum of opinion regarding the present existence of this professionalism. At the low end Meenu Chopra, (quoted in Rao 2011a) of ICONGO an organisation established with the objective of rating Indian NGOs, says “ Of the 1.7 million NGOs in the country, only 2-3 per cent are doing good work”; the rest are

“bumbling around” says Poduwal (2010). At the other end, other commentators see the emergence of “silos of exemplary activity”(Karunakaran 2011); and growth in confidence already underway (Satish Kumar 2011).

A important challenge yet to be met is the development of robust data on giving and the use of donations for service delivery and administration (Fradd 2009;

Karunakaran 2011; Sukumar 2011). However, signs of improvements in response to all the above challenges are there:

The social and philanthropy sector has been alive to such concerns, as can be seen in initiatives in self regulation among NGOs like the Credibility Alliance, and very recent attempts to bring together, synergise actions and create a network of players in

Indian philanthropy — from donors to NGOs (Ghosh 2011b).

Public policy will inch forward to take away some of the impediments in the ecosystem; aggregator institutions will come up to better connect donors to grantees; more peer group learning will happen among donors of all sizes and receiving organizations will develop more absorption capacity and become more accountable (Nilekani 2011b).

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India is a federation of states, which carries with it the challenge of multiple regulations impacting on philanthropy (Shulka 2010). The need to review the legal structures and incentives for giving is recognised (Gandhi 2011; Satish Kumar 2011;

Wharton School 2011). As a result national government is considering a bill to rationalise this regulation (Ghosh 2011b); and there are other indications of activity in this direction - “new laws, regulations, pending court judgements, issues of public doctrine” (Jenkins 2011e).

One particular egregious regulatory disincentive - given the discussion about donations by Indians to universities at home versus to their alma maters abroad - is made by Deepa Pental, a former vice-chancellor of Delhi University: “If we raise money from non-government sources then an equal amount will be cut from government grants. So you wind up with the same budget as before. Such a regressive policy has to be changed first” (Mishra 2011).

Another area thought to be important in encouraging more philanthropy is creating tax laws that are more favorable (Satish Kumar 2011). The existing structure may in fact be acting as a disincentive to philanthropy because it encourages trading in shares as taxes on capital gains are lower than normal taxes. The structure fails to discourage passing on wealth through inheritance (Rajadhyaksha 2011a). An inheritance tax, such as exists in the US and the UK may well be a way to encourage philanthropy in place of handing down wealth through a family dynasty (Economic

Times 2011e; Murlidharan 2010; Shankaran and Tewari 2011).

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The lack of an inheritance tax reinforces a social tradition which also acts as a brake on philanthropy. The social tradition is that of preserving wealth within the family via inheritance (Dhillon 2011; Economic Times 2011c, e; Narayan 2010b;

Nichenametla 2010) or through family business structures (Economic Times 2011b;

Poduwal 2010).

However, the newer generation of wealth generators and philanthropists, of whom the notable spokespersons are Sunil Mittal and Rohini Nilekani, see a change:

Bequeathing personal wealth to offspring has historically been a powerful urge with Indians. But this is clearly changing as the traditional joint family system is steadily giving way to nuclear families leading to a weakening of the familial bonds. Though we may still be a long way from American type of individualism where teenagers move away from parents to settle on their own, we are soon going to see the changing attitude towards “giving” among the older generation. Though it may initially be limited to the rich and well-to-do, I clearly see it spreading across the middle class in the years to come (Mittal 2011).

Earlier, because of the way the economy was structured, the family capital had to be passed on to the next generation to run the business. Wealth was a legacy that you received, and you had to carry it forward. All that has gone for a toss. People like us who have made money from new sectors have no obligation to give all of it to our children. They, too, don't want to be dependent on us. Our children are well educated and are excited about creating their own futures and their fortunes (Rohini Nilekani quoted in Wharton School 2011).

Adi Godrej makes another suggestion, arguing strongly in favour of corporate philanthropy, that “I don’t think [corporate] philanthropy should be given too many tax breaks” (Bhan 2010). He argues in favour of the owners of company’s undertaking their own personal philanthropy - as his own family notably traditionally has - in place of corporate philanthropy.

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Another social tradition which presents a challenge to philanthropy is a widely held reluctance to speak publicly about giving or to be named as a donor (Economic

Times 2011b; Kothari 2011; Mishra 2011; Nichenametla 2010; Nilekani 2011b; Yuen

2011a). Even some of those philanthropists who have had their views about philanthropy reported in the press have expressed this reluctance to be named:

I don't like to talk about it. I personally believe that philanthropy should not be talked about much (NR Murthy quoted in Wharton School 2011).

I do charity in memory of my father and would like to keep it personal (Rana Kapoor quoted in Economic Times 2011b).

Whatever we give should be for our own satisfaction, it should never be for publicity. That is where we are different from the Western world (Mukesh Ambani quoted in Daily Star 2011).

A final challenge that some writers have highlighted is that the time for practicing philanthropy only comes when wealth is perceived as secure (Economic

Times 2011e). This is true of societies and individuals. Societally, in emerging economies there is a time for wealth creation and a time to give back to the community

(Economic Times 2011b). Individually, one writer suggest, “Many of us are waiting for that magic moment: when nest eggs are egged; when kids are settled; and when we have retired” (Narayan 2010a). Lakshmi Niwas Mittal, at 55 yrs old and then the richest

Indian said "I am too young for charity" (Wharton School 2011). Some years later a spokesperson for his business added, “It is premature to commit an amount as [Arcelor]

Mittal is still operating actively” (Nichenametla 2010).

References for the sources cited above are in the Reference Section at p.50

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APPENDIX F: TERTIARY EDUCATION OF PHILANTHROPISTS NAMED BY PRESS

Name of Philanthropist Education Anu Aga St Xavier’s College, University of Mumbai; Tata Institute of Social Sciences(TISS), Mumbai.

Anil Ambani University of Bombay; Wharton School, University of Pennsylvania.

Mukesh Ambani IIT, Bombay; Stanford University.

Nita Ambani University of Mumbai. Shabana Azmi St Xavier’s College, University of Mumbai.

Rahul Bose Sydenham College, University of Mumbai. Madhav Chavan University of Mumbai; Ohio State University. Manish Chokhani London School of Business. Madhu Pamdit Das IIT, Mumbai. Gururaj Deshpande IIT, Madras; Queen’s University, Ontario;; University Of New Brunswick, Fredericton.

Harsh Goenka, St Xavier’s College, Mumbai; International Institute for Management Development.

S. (Kris) IIT, Madras. Gopalakrishnan Yusuf Hamied Cambridge University. J Irani Science College, Nagpur; University of Sheffield, UK. Rakesh Jhunjhunwala University of Bombay. Naveen Jindal Hansraj College, University of Delhi; University of Texas. Sajjan Jindal Bangalore University. Rana Kapoor Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey.

Neeru Khosla Delhi University; San Jose State University Stanford. Vinod Khosla IIT, Delhi; Carnegie-Mellon University; Stanford University.

Aditi Kothari Wharton School, University of Pennsylvania; Harvard Business School.

Hemendra Kothari Sydenham College, University of Bombay. Rajendra Prasad Bangalore University. Maganti

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Vijay Mahajan IIT, Delhi; Institute of Management, Ahmedabad; Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs, Princeton University.

Anand Mahindra Harvard University. Keshub Mahindra Wharton, University of Pennsylvania. Kiran Mazumdar-Shaw Bangalore University; Ballarat University, Australia. Rajesh Mehta Twelfth grade. Victor Menezes IIT, Bombay. Aditya Mittal Wharton School, University of Pennsylvania.

Lakshmi Nowas Mittal St Xavier’s College, Calcutta. Sunil Bharti Mittal Panjab University, Chandigarh. Zia Mody Cambridge University; Harvard University. Kalpana Morparia University of Bombay. Narayana Murthy University of Mysore; IIT, Kanpur.

Sudha Murthy B.V.B. College of Engineering & Technology, Hubli.

Shiv Nadar PSG College of Technology, Coimbatore. Chandrababu Naidu SV Arts College. Vineet Nayar XLRI School of Business and Human Resources. Nandan Nilekani IIT, Bombay. Rohini Nilekani Elphinstone College, University of Mumbai; St Xavier’s College, Mumbai.

Neera Nundy Harvard Business School; University of Western Ontario. Ajay Piramal University of Bombay; Jamnalal Bajaj Institute of Management Studies.

Azim Premji Stanford University. Grandhi Mallikarjuna Andhra University. (GM) Rao Kallam Anji Reddy University of Bombay; National Chemical Laboratory, Pune. Deval Sanghavi University of Texas, Austin. Devi Shetty Kasturba Medical College, Mangalore. Prabhakant Sinha University of Massachusetts; IIT, Kharagpur.

Saurabh Srivastava Harvard University; IIT, Kanpur.

Ratan Tata Cornell. Guatam Thapur Pratt Institute, New York. Stan Thekaekara Cantral College, Bangalore University. R Thiagarajan Indian Statistical Institute. N. Vaghul University of Madras. Romesh Wadhwani IIT Bombay; Carnegie-Mellon University.

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APPENDIX G: CONSENT LETTER SIGNED BY PARTICIPANTS

[NAME] [ADDRESS]

Dear [NAME]

The reason for this letter is to request an interview with you. I am undertaking research for a PhD exploring philanthropy in India. Your participation as a major figure in philanthropy will be of great value to this study.

So called “elite philanthropy” is a field that has attracted academic interest in the United States. There have also been studies in the United Kingdom and Australia. No academic investigation has previously explored contemporary elite philanthropy in India.

By far the majority of research into and the literature of philanthropy focuses on the USA. Yet US philanthropy grew from a tradition established in Europe and whose roots begin in earlier civilisation. The same European tradition, particularly its Anglo-Saxon branch has influence in India. However, the influences of earlier indigenous Indian civilisations may be equally salient. This study will compare and contrast the institutions, characteristics and drivers of Indian elite philanthropy with the corresponding forms in the USA. The findings will enhance the knowledge of philanthropy in India and add to a wider international body of knowledge about philanthropy.

Your participation will be a 60 minute personal interview conducted by me. With your permission the interview will be digitally recorded and this will be transcribed for subsequent analysis of the ideas, themes and concepts that emerge. The transcript and analysis will be confidential and no information identifying you will be published without your consent.

I modestly hope that the eventual outcome research will also add to your knowledge of philanthropy and to those who benefit from your philanthropy.

I will be most grateful for your consent.

Yours sincerely

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STATEMENT OF INTENT

AN EXPLORATION OF “ELITE PHILANTHROPY” IN INDIA

Introduction to project and invitation to participate: Your participation as a major figure in philanthropy will be of great value to this study.

The benefit to you personally: We modestly hope that this research will add to your knowledge and those who benefit from your philanthropy. We will be most grateful for your consent.

What your participation will involve Your participation will be in a 60 minute personal interview conducted by the main researcher. With your permission the interview will be digitally recorded and this will be transcribed for subsequent analysis of the ideas, themes and concepts that emerge. The transcript and analysis will be confidential and no information identifying you will be published without your written consent.

The themes and concepts to be explored in this interview will be:

A. Your biographical background B. The meaning and importance of wealth C. Patterns and frameworks of philanthropy D. Significance of religion and caste to philanthropy E. Philanthropy and government

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Research outputs: The theories, ideas, themes and concepts that emerge from the project will be published as a doctoral thesis. Publication of summaries and / or parts of the project data may be sought in academic and other journals, for conference proceedings. All or part of the thesis may be submitted for publication in book form. You will be offered a copy or access to a copy of any such items on publication.

Project and main researcher interests: The project is to be submitted to fulfil the requirements of a PhD

Project personnel: 1. Main researcher - John Godfrey, PhD Candidate in the Faculty of Business & Enterprise 2. First Supervisor – Prof Michael Gilding PhD, Executive Dean of the Faculty of Business & Enterprise 3. Second Supervisor – Dr Michael Liffman PhD, Director of the Asia- Pacific Centre for Social Investment &Philanthropy Faculty of Business & Enterprise 4. Associate Supervisor – Dr Elizabeth Branigan PhD, Senior Lecturer in the Asia- Pacific Centre for Social Investment & Philanthropy, Faculty of Business & Enterprise

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YOUR RIGHTS AND INTERESTS

Anonymity: Your name will not be used without your written consent. If written consent is not given, the thesis will use pseudonyms and / or present ‘composite’ profiles illustrating key characteristics of participants.

Free consent: You are free to participate or withdraw from this project at any time.

Consent will be assumed by your agreement to an interview at a place and time of your choice. You will be requested to sign the consent form attached before or during the interview.

Accuracy of transcript: You will be provided a copy of the transcript of interview and may add to, subtract or amend remarks as you feel appropriate to ensure accurate representation of your contribution.

Data access, retention and disposal: There will be no information identifying you used in any of the digital or transcript files. Any person with access to these files will be required to sign an agreement to destroy these materials after the completion of the project. The main researcher will retain the data for5 years from the date of publication of the thesis for reference purposes.

Personal contact details: Your personal contact details will only be accessible by the main researcher who will retain the details for 5 years from the date of publication of the thesis for contact purposes.

Contact for further information: If you would like further information about the project please contact Prof. Michael Gilding, Executive Dean of the Faculty of Business & Enterprise, Swinburne University of Technology, P O Box 218, HAWTHORN VIC 3122Tel + 61 3 9214 8102 Email [email protected]

Concerns/ complaints about the project: This project has been approved by or on behalf of Swinburne University Human Research Ethics Committee (SUHREC) in line with the (Australian) National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Human Research. If you have any concerns or complaints about the conduct of this project, you can contact the Research Ethics Officer, Swinburne Research (H68), Swinburne University of Technology, P O Box 218, HAWTHORN VIC 3122. Tel +61 3 9214 5218 or [email protected]

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CONSENT FORM

1. I/we consent to participate in the project named above. I/we have been provided a copy of the project consent information statement to which this consent form relates and any questions I have asked have been answered to my satisfaction.

2. In relation to this project, please circle your response to the following:

● I/we agree to be interviewed by the researcher Yes No ● I/we agree to allow the interview to be recorded by electronic device Yes No ● I/we agree to make myself available for further information if required Yes No

3. I/we acknowledge that:

(a) my/our participation is voluntary and that I am/we are free to withdraw from the project at any time without explanation; (b) the project is for the purpose of research and is not undertaken for profit or pecuniary gain; (c) any identifiable information about me/us which is gathered in the course of and as the result of my participating in this project will only be (i) collected and retained for the purpose of this project and (ii) accessed and analysed by the researcher(s) for the purpose of conducting this project; (d) my anonymity is preserved and I will not be identified in publications or otherwise without my express written consent given on the Consent to Name Being Used form overleaf.

By signing this document I/we agree to participate in this project.

Name of Participant: ……………………………………………………………………………

Signature & Date: ……………………………………………………………

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______

OPTIONAL

CONSENT TO MY NAME BEING USED IN PUBLICATION

I / we by signing below agree that my / our name may be used in published materials

Name of Participant: ……………………………………………………………………………

Signature & Date: ……………………………………………………………

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APPENDIX H: ETHICS CLEARANCE

SUHREC Project 2013/012 Ethics Clearance 1 message Kaye Goldenberg Tue, Feb 19, 2013 at 11:46 AM To: Michael Gilding Cc: Anne Cain , "[email protected]"

To: Prof Michael Gilding, FBE/Mr John Godfrey [BC: Mr John Godfrey]

Dear Prof Gilding,

SUHREC Project 2013/012 An exploration of the institutions, characteristics and drivers of elite philanthropy in India Prof Michael Gilding, FBE/Mr John Godfrey

Approved Duration: 19/02/2013 To 28/02/2015 [Adjusted]

I refer to the ethical review of the above resubmitted and revised project protocol undertaken on behalf of Swinburne's Human Research Ethics Committee (SUHREC) by SUHREC Subcommittee (SHESC2) at a meeting held on 8 February 2013. Your response to the review as e-mailed on 18 February was reviewed by a SHESC2 delegate.

I am pleased to advise that, as submitted to date, the project may proceed in line with standard on-going ethics clearance conditions here outlined.

- All human research activity undertaken under Swinburne auspices must conform to Swinburne and external regulatory standards, including the National Statement on Ethical Conduct in Human Research and with respect to secure data use, retention and disposal.

- The named Swinburne Chief Investigator/Supervisor remains responsible for any personnel appointed to or associated with the project being made aware of ethics clearance conditions, including research and consent procedures or instruments approved. Any change in chief investigator/supervisor requires timely notification and SUHREC endorsement.

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- The above project has been approved as submitted for ethical review by or on behalf of SUHREC. Amendments to approved procedures or instruments ordinarily require prior ethical appraisal/ clearance. SUHREC must be notified immediately or as soon as possible thereafter of (a) any serious or unexpected adverse effects on participants and any redress measures; (b) proposed changes in protocols; and (c) unforeseen events which might affect continued ethical acceptability of the project.

- At a minimum, an annual report on the progress of the project is required as well as at the conclusion (or abandonment) of the project.

- A duly authorised external or internal audit of the project may be undertaken at any time.

Please contact the Research Ethics Office if you have any queries about on-going ethics clearance or you need a signed ethics clearance certificate, citing the SUHREC project number. A copy of this clearance email should be retained as part of project record- keeping.

Best wishes for the project. Yours sincerely

Kaye Goldenberg Secretary, SHESC2 **************************** Kaye Goldenberg Administrative Officer (Research Ethics) Swinburne Research (H68) Swinburne University of Technology P O Box 218 HAWTHORN VIC 3122

Tel +61 3 9214 8468

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APPENDIX I: PUBLICATIONS BY THE CANDIDATE RELATED TO THE THESIS

Godfrey, J. 2013. Philanthropy Picks up Pace in India. Financial Times. Godfrey, J. 2014. India’s Charity Medical Camps Pose Risks to Rural Poor [Online]. Nonprofit Quarterly. Available: https://nonprofitquarterly.org/india-s-charity-medical-camps-pose-risks-to-rural- poor/ [Accessed 1 December 2019]. Godfrey, J. 2015. The Art of Giving, the Indian Way. Live Mint, 2 October 2015, 2 October 2015. Godfrey, J. 2016a. Engaging HNWI Indians. Journal of Development Policy and Practice, 1, 1, 89-113. Godfrey, J. 2016b. Impact Investing Needs Clarity in Goals. Live Mint, 5 March 2016, 5. Godfrey, J., Branigan, E. & Khan, S. 2017. Old and New Forms of Giving: Understanding Corporate Philanthropy in India. VOLUNTAS: International Journal of Voluntary and Nonprofit Organizations, 28, 2, 672-96.

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