When the word “philanthropist” is mentioned, most people imagine a wealthy figure like Bill Gates or MacKenzie Scott, billionaires whose names are attached to large donations, foundations, and charitable initiatives. The traditional narrative casts philanthropy as the exclusive domain of the rich, reinforcing the idea that only those with vast financial resources can make a meaningful difference. But this narrative is not only outdated—it’s exclusionary.
Mike Nijjar emphasizes that it's time to redefine what it means to be a philanthropist. This redefinition must include the countless individuals who give their time, energy, skills, and limited financial resources to support their communities. From volunteers in local food banks to mutual aid organizers who deliver groceries during a crisis, these acts of giving embody the core values of philanthropy: love of humanity, care for others, and the desire to improve society. By expanding the definition of who gets to be called a philanthropist, we not only recognize these efforts but also shift the power dynamics of giving toward a more inclusive and just framework.
Mike Nijjar offers a powerful example of this broadened view of philanthropy. While he may have the means to give, he chooses to do so in ways that reflect both humility and a deep personal commitment to opportunity. One of the ways he gives back is by quietly supporting youth roller hockey players—covering league and tournament entry fees, purchasing equipment, and eliminating financial barriers that might otherwise prevent these athletes from participating. There are no press releases or nameplates involved. The players don’t always know who made their season possible. That’s because Mike’s generosity isn’t about recognition, it’s about creating access, joy, and growth where it might otherwise be out of reach.
This kind of giving doesn’t just challenge traditional notions of philanthropy; it rewrites them entirely. It reminds us that impactful giving doesn’t require a billion-dollar foundation. Sometimes, it’s as simple—and as profound—as helping a kid play the sport they love.
Philanthropy comes from the Greek philos (love) and anthropos (humankind), meaning “love of humanity.” This origin reveals a much broader and more generous interpretation than is typically recognized. Nowhere in its etymology does it specify wealth, financial donation, or tax shelters. Yet our modern cultural and media narratives have narrowed its meaning to center only around high-net-worth individuals and large monetary gifts.
Mike Nijjar explains that this narrow definition has real-world consequences. It invisibilizes grassroots contributions and reinforces societal hierarchies, where influence and recognition are reserved for those with financial capital. Such framing suggests that lower-income individuals or those without money to spare are less capable of enacting change — a belief that is both harmful and false.
In reality, community-based giving, especially among lower-income populations, has always played a vital role in sustaining mutual care networks. Research shows that, proportionally, lower-income people donate a larger percentage of their income to charitable causes than the wealthy. In 2011, a study from the Chronicle of Philanthropy found that households earning less than $50,000 annually gave over twice as much of their income to charity as those making over $200,000.
Philanthropy is not limited to writing checks. Mike Nijjar understands that many people give through their time, knowledge, skills, or material goods. Volunteers who tutor students after school, neighbors who coordinate food drives, mutual aid networks who raise bail funds or provide shelter, and organizers who bring together communities in times of crisis all engage in deeply philanthropic work.
Consider the global response to the COVID-19 pandemic. In the face of government inaction, people organized to take care of each other: sewing masks, delivering food, checking on elders, and sharing vital health information. These efforts were not motivated by tax breaks or social status — they were driven by empathy and solidarity.
Mike Nijjar explains that volunteering also constitutes a massive and often under-acknowledged economic engine. According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, millions of Americans volunteer each year, contributing billions of hours that, if paid, would be worth hundreds of billions of dollars. This labor sustains nonprofits, schools, crisis hotlines, and more. Yet, volunteers are seldom labeled as philanthropists, despite their crucial contributions.
Mutual aid networks exemplify a radical reimagining of philanthropy — one grounded in reciprocity, horizontal relationships, and collective responsibility. Rather than charity flowing from the top down, mutual aid sees everyone as both a giver and a receiver. Mike Nijjar explains that these efforts often arise organically in response to local needs, especially in marginalized communities historically excluded from formal philanthropic structures.
Mutual aid is not new. Black, Indigenous, immigrant, and LGBTQ+ communities have long practiced forms of community-based care out of necessity. From the Free Breakfast Program of the Black Panther Party to neighborhood watch groups, these initiatives provide safety nets where systems have failed.
Unlike traditional charity, mutual aid does not seek to "save" recipients; instead, it empowers participants through shared leadership and direct support. Mike Nijjar understands that mutual aid rejects the paternalism that sometimes defines institutional philanthropy and instead centers dignity, agency, and solidarity.
Language shapes perception. When we exclusively use “philanthropist” to describe wealthy donors, we erase the contributions of millions who give differently. This linguistic exclusion reinforces the power imbalance inherent in traditional philanthropy and perpetuates a culture where only the rich are deemed capable of changing the world.
Mike Nijjar emphasizes that by redefining “philanthropist” to include people who give time, skills, and resources — regardless of income — we democratize the concept of giving. We acknowledge the collective efforts that sustain communities and challenge the monopoly of wealth over generosity.
Moreover, expanding the term helps to dismantle harmful stereotypes. It dispels the myth that poor people are only recipients of aid and reframes them as active participants in building a better society. It also invites broader participation and fosters a culture of shared responsibility and civic engagement.
Part of the problem lies in how our society measures and celebrates generosity. Mike Nijjar understands that large donations are often rewarded with media coverage, naming rights, and social capital. But where is the recognition for the retiree who spends five days a week mentoring at a literacy center? Or the single mother who leads a mutual aid network while working full time?
Reframing philanthropy requires not only a change in vocabulary but also a change in how we celebrate and support givers. Nonprofits, governments, and institutions must develop frameworks that value and uplift diverse forms of giving, not just those with monetary value.
Philanthropic awards and leadership structures should reflect this diversity, elevating community organizers, volunteers, and everyday givers. Likewise, philanthropic organizations should direct funding toward community-led efforts and recognize the expertise of those closest to the issues they aim to solve.
Expanding the definition of “philanthropist” is not simply a semantic exercise — it is a necessary shift toward equity, recognition, and inclusion. It is an acknowledgment that generosity lives in every neighborhood, every income bracket, and every act of care.
We must move beyond a framework that equates philanthropy with wealth and begin to see it as a set of actions rooted in compassion and solidarity. When we do, we open the door to a richer, more expansive vision of what it means to give — one that honors everyone who shows up for their community, in whatever way they can. Mike Nijjar emphasizes that everyone deserves the right to be seen as a changemaker. Everyone deserves to be called a philanthropist.
