Nearly two years ago I was diagnosed with a rare form of Acute Myeloid Leukemia—so rare, in fact, the doctors were not one-hundred percent certain with their diagnosis until it returned the second time. During most of my first rounds of treatment I had insurance through my place of employment—that is, until my six-month disability period expired, and I was fired.

My option was COBRA, an entirely overpriced insurance that would have left my husband and me with nothing on which to live. I was able to receive almost full financial assistance through the hospital where I was receiving treatment, and when I was declared in remission, we managed to squeeze in the tiny slot of the Affordable Care Act coverage that was actually affordable—mainly so my husband would have something “just in case.”

After a few months of remission, I learned that the disease had returned. My doctor gently informed me that I would have to undergo radiation, which was to prepare me for an allogeneic stem cell transplant, which is when the patient receives stem cells from a matched donor (as opposed to an autologous STC, where one’s own cells are used). However, due to sheer cost, the hospital’s financial assistance could not cover the STC—an estimate provided by the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society for an allogeneic STC is $500,000. My only options were to find affordable insurance in the Marketplace or to apply for Medicaid.

We did our research and weighed the pros and cons alongside our specific circumstances. While I had lived paycheck to paycheck throughout my professional career, my husband had managed to put away a significant “nest egg” while working during and after graduate school—but it was a drop in the bucket compared to the expense of the transplant I needed.

When we married, we acted as if his funds did not exist and lived off of what we made monthly. However, suddenly those funds for which he had worked and saved so diligently were keeping me from obtaining Medicaid, which we realized was the only viable option for my specific needs.  In order to qualify for Medicaid as a married couple, though I was the only one applying, we had to meet certain income limits as well as a spenddown before I could receive coverage.  

Since we could only have necessary assets, we had to provide copious amounts of documentation to prove we were under the financial need limit (i.e. one place to live, whether rented or owned, evidence of total income/assets under $3,000—less for us because we kept a second car, documentation for all bank accounts dating back three months, pay stubs, taxes, etc.).  They even ask on the application how much cash you have in your wallet.

My husband’s savings, along with our monthly income, would not cover long-term insurance premiums, co-pays, and meet required deductibles before our resources would run out, leaving us unable to cover basic living expenses—essentially all the reasons we had to turn down COBRA.  I felt angry, indignant, and sad that something totally unrelated to any of my own hard work was now in jeopardy because I had a life-threatening disease. We spoke with the Medicaid experts at the hospital, spent countless hours discussing and seeking wisdom from others, and finally made our decision. We would strategically and legally get rid of the money my husband had carefully set aside in order to save my life.

They even ask on the application how much cash you have in your wallet.
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Never had I imagined that spending money could be so stressful. There are countless stipulations of how you can and cannot dispose of your income, how many cars you’re allowed to have and at what values, and special boxes to check for earmarked monies. For instance, I was allowed to open a special “Burial Fund” account at my bank with $3,500 per person that is untouchable until after I am off Medicaid. We could, and did, pay a year’s worth of rent on our apartment. Then, we made sure our car and rental insurance was paid as far in advance as permitted by the insurance company.  However, we were not allowed to give or sell one of our vehicles to a family member for the duration of my time on Medicaid. We were also warned against giving away money when we considered donating funds to a non-profit cause, as it might look suspicious and could complicate the approval process.

The kicker was that, between the two of us, the government stated we could have one car and $3,000 total, in all assets. However, if we kept both of our cars, the one of lesser value would count against the $3,000 (an antiquated policy that ignores how many people are in two-job homes, requiring transportation for each). We both owned our old cars outright, but we decided to sell the car that got worse gas mileage and upgrade for the sake of my daily transportation comfort after my procedure (1.5 hours round-trip), since it wouldn’t count against us–part of strategic spending. After attempting to sell my car, we decided that based on its low worth in the Medicaid system, but personal value when I was again able to drive, we would keep it and take the financial cut. It was the best decision for us, because after 4-5 months I was again able to start driving short distances. But, it means we have to watch our bank account with a hawk eye.

The stress of making sure every detail was correct was excruciating. Nine months later, it is still a constant stress in our life. I worry what someone at the Medicaid office might say if I deposit a birthday check for $50. I anticipate the review every six months, knowing I have done everything I can, but am still concerned they will find something amiss that will cost me my coverage and therefore my ability to receive necessary treatments.

We were also warned against giving away money when we considered donating funds to a non-profit cause, as it might look suspicious and could complicate the approval process.
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The thing is, I know my story is a pretty good one compared to others. Like most people, I am on social media. I am familiar with people who are on welfare and Medicaid for many reasons. I hear comments people make about those who are truly less fortunate (I do not count myself in that category—my situation could be so much worse). The memes that are posted stating who should and should not qualify for assistance are appalling. The judgement cast by comfortable people who think “if I can do it, so can they” is sickening. The belief so many people have, that it is an easy system off of which people want to leech, is pure propaganda pushed by the greedy elite onto the masses for their own agendas.

Contrary to what many want to believe, my experience doesn’t show me people excitedly lining up to jump through rolls of red tape in order to receive state assistance. It is a painfully long and even degrading process. Humans are treated as a checklist and their personal experiences mean very little, if anything, to the person processing their file. When it takes so much effort to get on welfare (of any kind), is it little wonder that people are loath to get off before they know they can certainly survive without it? A single mother with children to feed and insure, working a job that barely covers rent and utilities, all without benefits will need help. A young couple who are struggling, while working full-time, to make ends meet because their job doesn’t actually pay a living wage may have to lower their pride and apply for food stamps.

These are just a few situations of thousands where the many who claim we need to “help our own first” want to turn a blind eye rather than actually seeing their tax dollars do good.

Personally, I have to consider various factors prior to getting my next job. I cannot wait to get back to work, but I am still officially disabled. I need Medicaid while I continue treatment and recovery. Before I can come off of Medicaid, I have to secure a position with benefits, a salary that will allow me to pay out of pocket fees until I’ve hit my insurance deductible, and the security that if I don’t qualify for much financial assistance, I’ll still be able to get the healthcare I need as a cancer survivor.

The belief so many people have, that it is an easy system off of which people want to leech, is pure propaganda pushed by the greedy elite onto the masses for their own agendas.
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I don’t fit the “stereotypical” role of a welfare recipient. I am a professional, young adult who was diagnosed with a deadly disease and has had to make painfully stressful decisions in order to give myself the best shot at living. But because I don’t fit the bill, I can use the general public’s false assumptions to expose the fallacy of their definition of poverty, what material possessions someone receiving government assistance can have, and what their lifestyle can look like.  

For instance, we drive a used Prius and an old Civic. We shop at Aldi. We use iPhones we bought before my diagnosis (over two years old) and maintain them well. I strive to make my home cozy and a place where my husband and I can work and relax, since we are here practically 24/7. But many would want us to be car-less or in a junker, using a flip phone (nothing against those), and living in a dilapidated house if they knew I was receiving Medicaid.

When I go into the doctor’s office or call my case worker at social services, I cannot help but feel like I’m viewed as slightly less worthy simply because I need help from “the system.” I speak extra clearly and efficiently to communicate that I am aware of the process and want to know what they need me to do. I refuse to be one more person they think they can railroad over because of a complex and confusing system. They will acknowledge my humanity.

Our society wants to see the poor look impoverished, and if they don’t, society lacks the desire and drive to help. After all, if you don’t look pathetic, how can they judge you? The “older” generations cannot comprehend that holding a full-time job is often not enough in the current economy and job market. Thousands of college graduates wind up serving you your morning latte, and I can guarantee that, for most, that is not their passion. Families where one adult is a caregiver and the other is disabled face losing their food stamps when their teenage, but not yet adult, children get high school jobs—like society says they should. The state counts that as household income, even though most families would consider that simple spending cash, not grocery money.

The system is flawed.  Currently, the Trump administration wants to cut assistance to “the three big entitlement programs,” as Senator Mitch McConnell stated in an interview with Bloomberg, as a solution to lowering the national debt.  This comes on the heels of approval of a $675 billion budget for the Department of Defense—only furthering unending, pointless, greed-driven wars, death, and destruction.

We say we want to help the poor in our nation, but do we really? The proof is in the policies—policies that oppress, stress, and even kill.

It’s a familiar story. Girl meets boy. Boy starts abusing girl. Boy cuts girl off from her family and friends and takes away any financial power she has, making it feel impossible for her to escape.

Dr. Ludy Green, author of Ending Domestic Violence Captivity: A Guide to Economic Freedom, knows the tale all too well. As a child, she saw how her mother became trapped in an abusive relationship. “She couldn’t leave the relationship because she couldn’t provide us with education, a comfortable home, and care in the house,” says Dr. Green. After the death of her mother, she left South America and immigrated to the U.S. to go to college. She ended up volunteering at My Sister’s Place, a women’s shelter in Washington, D.C., to help women overcome domestic violence.

Her volunteer work uncovered a disturbing pattern: Like her mother, these women felt that they couldn’t escape their situations because they didn’t have the means to support themselves. Not only had their abusers taken away their ability to feel safe and worthy, they had also taken away their ability to act with autonomy.

The Ongoing Joke About Women And Money Isn’t Funny Anymore
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This pattern came to be known as economic abuse, which is when abusers use money as a way to further shift the balance of power in their favor. That’s why, in 2001, after years of working and saving her money, Dr. Green founded Second Chance Employment Services, an organization that serves women at risk of financial abuse by helping them get jobs and learn about personal finance. It’s a rewarding line of work. Unfortunately, it’s also a necessary one.

“I meet people on a daily basis, and what I see is very devastating. It is a cancer on society, we need to combat it,” says Dr. Green. About 1 in 3 women will experience some form of domestic abuse at some point in their lives. And the rate is higher for certain demographics, like non-Hispanic Black women (43.7%), Native American and Alaskan Native women (46%), multi-racial, non-Hispanic women (53.8%), bisexual women (61%), and disabled women, who are 40% more likely to experience intimate partner violence than women without a disability. And where physical abuse exists, economic (or financial) abuse is usually there. It occurs in 94–99% of domestic violence cases. And like domestic abuse, financial abuse is contingent upon isolation and silence.

Money is a taboo subject in many cultures. And when personal finance is seen as a private matter, it’s more difficult to have healthy conversations about money, which perpetuates financial abuse. To make it harder for abusers to achieve that all-encompassing kind of control that leaves people feeling trapped by their circumstances, we need to remove the money taboo, and make finance more accessible and equitable for all.

Financial abuse is a slow, destructive burn. It often comes on gradually, and it can take many forms, like strict limitations on work or spending, outright seizure of earnings, using the other person’s credit without their knowledge, and more. The specifics may differ from case to case, but one thing remains the same — domestic abuse is about power and control, and economic abuse ensures the abuser has control over how the victim accesses and spends money. Over time, the results can be devastating.

“[Abusers] don’t just destroy a woman, they destroy the children, they destroy the whole family. When it starts, it may be small things. But by the time they open their eyes, they realize it was all a trick,” says Dr. Green.

Christine Hennigan, a certified financial planner and certified divorce financial analyst based out of West Chester, Pennsylvania, knows the impact of long-term financial abuse, too. After 10 years as a CFP, she added her second practice after seeing the devastating effects of legal strategy without financial strategy.

Hennigan recalls one client who was separated from her husband and living in the family home with their children one winter. “He waited till the night of a snowstorm and decided to shut off the heat and electricity. Her kids were in the next room saying, ‘are we poor now?’ [The house] was still in his name and he thought that would be a riot,” she says. “He wasn’t necessarily withholding or hiding money from her, but he was financially abusive. And the way he made her feel, and the way he made her kids feel about her… It was one of the worst nights of her entire life.”

Should People With Bipolar Disorder Relinquish Their Financial Agency?
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“In every group within our culture, domestic violence occurs. But those who are able to get out of those situations more readily are those who have economic power because they have more choices,” says Angela Schultz, program director at Redevelopment Opportunities for Women (ROW), which provides financial literacy services to women who’ve been impacted by domestic violence, poverty, and homelessness.

Part of the problem of financial abuse is that it’s difficult to detect. Many victims don’t even know it’s happening, and when they do realize it, they feel ashamed that they don’t know enough about money to get themselves out. ROW’s Economic Action Program (REAP) exists in part to repair the damage wrought by financial abuse, partially through classes that focus on starting a dialogue about finances in a safe, group setting populated by survivors and led by a group facilitator.

“A lot of people will come to the classes and they will not even recognize that they experienced some part of economic abuse,” says Schultz.

The classes are dependent on creating an atmosphere of trust — not only because participants come from abusive situations, but also because the topic at hand, while vital to the process of rebuilding, is treated as taboo in most societies.

“You don’t talk about how much you make, you don’t talk about your credit score. You’re not going to talk about abuse in the first place, so you’re not going to talk about your financial situation because that’s like a double layer,” explains Schultz.

Part of the problem of financial abuse is that it’s difficult to detect.
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In REAP classes, the group structure is designed to break down the barriers of isolation that abusers have built. Unlike the power structure employed by traditional financial literacy programs, which operate according to a teacher-student model, REAP classes empower participants by creating a level playing field and tapping into the strength that comes from community and shared experience.

“There’s a huge difference if [financial education is] delivered by someone who’s a banker versus a group facilitator,” says Schultz. “The facilitator is not there as the expert in the room. Everyone brings their skill set and knowledge to the table.”

This educational model subverts the experience of domestic abuse by giving financial power and autonomy back to the people who’ve been robbed of it. Money may seem secondary compared to the emotional impact of domestic violence, but it’s the number one factor in determining whether a survivor will have to go back to their abuser. And confronting that element of abuse is a vital part of the healing process.

Would You Rather Talk About Money Or Sex?
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Money isn’t just a means to power, it is power. It dictates everything from the place you live and the food you eat to the education you get and opportunities you’re exposed to. Our culture of silence around money effectively cuts us off from that power by making it harder for us to have empowering conversations about this thing that is so vital to our lives. This limits our autonomy because without unhindered access to that power, we cannot freely make choices about how we live, how we relate to the world and how we move through it. Removing the money taboo is vital to ending domestic abuse.

But changes to cultural norms are always met with resistance. And the status quo has made navigating our financial lives within the context of the money taboo tricky. On one hand, speaking up about our salary can be detrimental if it’s in the context of a job interview. (A fact which several cities and states have recently recognized by banning such questions during interviews.) On the other hand, staying silent at work can perpetuate gender-, race-, and ability-based pay gaps between our peers and coworkers.

Our culture of silence around money makes it harder for us to have empowering conversations.
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But rather than walk the fine line between silence and disclosure, the cultural tendency is to shy away from the realities of our finances and keep quiet. Talking about your salary is still awkward, and invites scrutiny, comparison, and jealousy. Beyond that, finance itself can also be confusing, and there’s a social expectation that everyone has a certain level of financial literacy, which obscures the fact that most people have a hard time navigating money.

“Someone will come into my office and their body language is passive, apologetic, and embarrassed; they’re coming for help. I try to dispel that by reassuring them that they are the majority, not the minority,” says CFP Hennigan. “They think that all their girlfriends and all their colleagues at work have all their stuff together and understand everything. In reality they’re in the same boat. They just don’t realize it.”

In classifying finance as a private matter, we are robbed of the strength that comes from a collective knowledge base, and we are cut off from vital support.

How The Foreclosure Crisis Targeted Women
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Abolishing the money taboo wouldn’t require full disclosure of every detail of our finances, like the specifics of our salary or the size of our retirement accounts. It’s about creating a society that allows people to ask for help, creating safe spaces for discussion, and demystifying financial topics, which are often shrouded by industry jargon.

“I think women in general should openly discuss finances and their concerns about finances more. I think it’s healthy to have general discussions about finances,” says Hennigan, adding: “There’s definitely a thirst for knowledge.”

In a way, the structure of our financial system mimics the tactics employed by abusers. The weapon of choice is language, which is used to shift the balance of power away from the masses toward select gatekeepers. This is, of course, by design. But that collective silence perpetuates this power imbalance and clears the way for both the wage gap and economic abuse.

We can remove the barrier of economic abuse — which is vital to the fight against domestic abuse — by speaking up, by sharing our knowledge, and by normalizing financial conversations. And for those who are caught up in the cycle of domestic violence, it could pave the way toward freedom.

“Regardless of how manipulated or controlled they feel about their situation or their finances, there is always a way out. There are professionals out there that can help,” says Hennigan. “If I had a dollar for every time a woman said, ‘I wish I had met you five or 10 years ago’ — it just breaks my heart. They’re not stuck, they’re not.”

There is a way out of financial abuse. The first step is talking about it.

“Something softens me
Softens my desire
Something helps me breathe
Something spills out my pores as light
Something
Is like hope blanketing me
Something bleeds as me…”
– excerpt from ‘So the Second Thing I Bought Was a Mirror’ by Aisha Sasha John

I come from a culture where talking about most things are taboo.

(Insert trope about conservative Asians here.)

So when I first moved to the U.S. close to a decade ago, I was surprised by how easily the topic of sex came up in everyday conversation. And I had moved here from England, by the way.

I heard coworkers go into graphic detail about fetishes, brand-new friends disclose fantasies that I wouldn’t to my oldest friends, and get casually asked about my boudoir habits over coffee.

What wasn’t — and still isn’t — brought up, was money.

I’d get quickly diverted if I asked what a job would pay, shot down if I asked for more money, and told in the most (condescendingly) surprised of tones, what a “good negotiator” I was when I did.

But not talking about money only works for one set of society; cisgendered white men.

When womxn are considered impolite for asking for what we want, what we deserve, or what the white man next to us is making, we’re accepting a world where only certain people deserve to make what they’re worth. So they can be nonchalant about it.

I don’t need to tell you how power structures are dictated by money.

And I won’t insult your intelligence by reminding you that “women make XX cents to a white man’s dollar.”

But I will ask you this: if it’s polite to talk about that weird thing the guy you met on Tinder did in bed, then why the hell can’t we talk about how much money you make?

With love + solidarity,
Ruchika Tulshyan
Founding Editor

When Your Medical Treatment Depends On Your Race

By Cici Zhang

In a bone marrow search, most people try their families first.

But 70% end up looking for a match among strangers.

Because there are fewer minority donors in the registry, it’s harder for minority patients to find a match.

According to statistics, black people have a 66% likelihood of finding a matched, available donor in the registry. It’s 97% for white people.

As with everything, race matters as much in sickness as in health.

How ‘Fresh Off the Boat’ Upends The Asian BFF Trope
By Andrea Ruggirello

Growing up, when I saw any Asian woman or girl on TV, even as an extra, my head would snap to attention.

Even if I didn’t consciously think about representation at the time, the lack of Asian characters was obvious, and made me internalize our invisibility even more.

As a Korean adopted into a white family, the characters I saw on TV were some of the most intimate looks I had at Asian American family life.

Living in a mostly white neighborhood, my friendships mirrored those I saw on TV — friendships like Rory Gilmore and Lane Kim’s on Gilmore Girls or, later, Meredith Grey and Cristina Yang’s on Grey’s Anatomy; I, too, was the only Asian friend among a group of white peers.

Similar to the trope of the “sassy black friend,” the Asian BFF is an often-tokenized attempt to include a person of color on screen.

The Asian BFF rejects her Asian heritage, and the character’s identity revolves around attempts to emulate whiteness.

IF YOU LIKE WHAT YOU SEE, PLEASE CONSIDER SPONSORING A STORY FOR US!

What #MeToo Looks Like When You’re In Recovery

By Claire Rudy Foster

A woman’s treatment for addiction shouldn’t require her silence about sexual abuse.

The culture of silence and “anonymity” that surrounds recovery is harmful to women, and allows leaders, elders, and trusted community members to prey on women with little fear of repercussions.

There’s a commonly held myth that the wrongs committed before getting sober don’t count. Victims of harassment or assault are told to pray for their attackers, rather than report them.

Some are encouraged to “see their part” in the attack, or try to reframe sexual assault as a spiritual gift, a gateway to growth.

Noah Levine, a recovery leader who is accused of sexual misconduct said, “We all sort of have a different doorway to dharma or spiritual practice. Suffering is a doorway.”

For women, that doorway is often sexual assault.

What Happens When Four Anti-iPhone, Salty-Ass Texan Women Argue About Cats

By Andrea Grimes

They say that smartphones are tearing us apart. That technology is building walls, not tearing them down. That the internet makes us dumber.

Not in my family. In my family, the presence of a goofy ole gal named Siri has fundamentally, and forever, changed us. For the better.

Every family has its special holiday traditions and quirks. Some folks all wear matching pajamas for Christmas morning, others all share a beloved pancake or latke recipe, or escape to their favorite skiing locale.

My family argues about facts.

Lead image: Unsplash/Olga Delawrence

By Katelyn Burns

Originally published on Everyday Feminism.

The cycle of systemic poverty and homelessness is nearly impossible for anyone to break out of. The combination of not having enough funds for everyday necessities under capitalism and a lack of a suitable shelter under which to sleep can be crushing to the human spirit.

Under structural transphobia, trans people are at increased risk for unemployment and homelessness, with trans women of color — who are three times as likely as the general population to be unemployed — bearing the brunt of this oppression.

When I began my own transition, of course, homelessness lingered as a fear in the back of my mind. I’d watched too many trans women be run out of their jobs under suspicious circumstances and subsequently struggle to find another job to believe I was entirely immune to the possibility.

Housing insecurity is a major issue for the trans community and already sparse shelter resources could potentially be a hostile environment for a trans woman, myself included.

As a trans woman, I have a natural fear of cis-operated spaces, as the potential for transphobia is ever present. For example, the Salvation Army has been accused several times of harassing or even banning trans women from their shelters. I wouldn’t even risk availing myself of their services.

Taking into account that a great many shelters and anti-poverty charities are affiliated with or operated by churches, I would be leery of seeking the same help as a homeless cis person.

Housing insecurity is a major issue for the trans community.

And with trans people making up just 0.6% of the population, it’s especially difficult for organizations to provide appropriate local trans-specific resources and a welcoming support system in order to help folks breakout of the systemic poverty cycle.

In order to figure out the best ways to help trans people breakout of systemic homelessness, I turned to the trans-run organization Hypatia Software Org.

According to President/CEO, Lisa-Marie Maginnis, Hypatia’s mission is “to end homelessness and the disenfranchisement of people who experience transmisogyny through peer mentorship, emergency cash relief, and community building.”

Here are 4 ways they say we can help get trans people out of poverty now:

1. Let trans people who have been homeless take the lead

The centerpiece of Hypatia’s approach is their peer mentorship program which recruits trans people who have struggled with extreme poverty to mentor trainees as they work through a year-long course in software development.

Says Maginnis, “The idea is that if you see a peer who has gone through a similar experience as you but is not currently experiencing homelessness, you’ll feel like it’s now attainable and it’s not an impossible proposition to change your life experience.”

The program is a unique boon for a population that has always struggled with extreme poverty and pays homage to the cultural idea of paying it forward that sometimes runs strongly through the trans community at large.

Our community’s prospects have been raised by previous generations, and it’s up to each successive generation to leave the world a better and safer place for those that come out after us.

Maginnis continues, “Hypatia is founded on the very idea that together we can raise each other up out of homelessness and into the IT world.”

2. Share decision-making responsibilities among the whole group

According to Maginnis, every major decision that HSO makes is voted on by both the students and volunteers, all of whom are trans themselves.

“It’s a formal consensus process where any member if they have an idea, we wait seven days and debate it, and if we all agree, the proposal becomes part of Hypatia’s mission… This enables the very people your organization is supposed to serve to have power and run their own community as opposed to being told what to do.”

This dynamic has manifested itself in several positive ways.

If You’ve Never Lived In Poverty, Stop Telling Poor People What To Do

Hypatia itself began as a loosely organized effort with a mission to help homeless experiencers of transmisogyny break out of the poverty cycle. Most people within the trans community define transmisogyny as the unique intersection between misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia exclusively experienced by trans women, and so, at first, Hypatia only assisted trans women.

However, a vote within the membership at large ended up changing the internal definition of transmisogyny to include anyone who identifies as experiencing transmisogyny, including those who may not be trans women.

As a result, Hypatia is now open to any homeless trans person, not just trans women. It’s just one example of why letting those who the program is meant to help make the major decisions can turn out with positive results.

3. Help trans folks find employment in trans-friendly industries

Trans people are marginalized in a number of unique ways within employment settings, and employment law has not yet fully caught up with the fairly recent growth of out trans people across the US.

As a result, employers willing to allow trans people to thrive are vital in helping them build a stable enough employment history to break free of the bonds of poverty.

While there are very few industries that are specifically supportive of trans employees, Hypatia believes that the tech history has proven to be particularly welcoming.

Employment law has not yet fully caught up with the fairly recent growth of out trans people across the US.

“We push for technology jobs because we find the tech industry, while still problematic, to be one of the more friendly industries for trans people. There seem to be more trans people successfully employed in the IT world than there are other industries, visibility-wise.” Said Maginnis.

By focusing on the tech sector, Hypatia can offer their training program nationwide online in an accessible setting.

When students graduate from Hypatia’s year-long training program, they’ll be certified Python developers, a valuable qualification that is very marketable to potential IT employers.

Historically, the tech industry, with heavy ties to the San Francisco Bay Area, has a long history of support for the gay and lesbian community, and that history has translated into a relatively supportive environment for trans tech workers.

4. Support initiatives that provide sudden cash infusions for trans folks

When you’re homeless, every day is a financial crisis and most of Hypatia’s fundraising efforts go towards assisting students with enough cash to be able to keep attending classes. Enter Hypatia’s emergency cash relief fund.

“It’s used for food, transportation and access to medicine for students who would drop out of the program otherwise,” says Maginnis of the thought process behind the fund. “By stabilizing them, we allow them to complete the program, by completing the program, they’re left with their first open source project for their portfolio.”

While there are social media hashtags like #transcrowdfund (created by black transfemme J Skyler) and organizations like the Jim Collins Foundation which helps fund gender affirming surgeries for trans people in need, that can help with these emergency funds, Hypatia takes it one step further and becomes a one-stop shop for both valuable employment training and dispersal of direct assistance cash.

Often students in the HSO program have no access to a laptop, and so must raise enough funds to grab a bus to the library to complete their one hour/week program. Because of this, Hypatia is rolling out extensive fundraising efforts for 2018.

The fact is: there’s no easy answer to systemic poverty within the trans community. It will take several generations to deconstruct the social attitudes that make employers less likely to hire and retain trans employees, so in the meantime, it’s survival mode for us.

Key to that survival are organizations, such as Hypatia Software, that continue doing the real work.

Recently, I came across a fascinating article about “the end of cash” in the New York Times Magazine. Written by economist John Lanchester, the piece examines taxes, the central bank, and something called the “zero lower bound,” drawing a conclusion I was surprised to agree with.

“Cash is one of the few ways in which ordinary citizens can enjoy a tiny taste of the freedom, privacy and security that the rich take as their due,” Lanchester wrote. Wow, I thought to myself. He sounds like a feminist FinDom!

“Financial domination is when money is given by a submissive to someone in a dominant role. The transaction is the turn on,” explains Lorelei Lee, a porngorapher, writer, and self-described cash fetishist. When we podcast on the subject, she emphasizes that the nature of the relationship between the players — be it sex work or marriage — is superfluous to the central eroticism of cash, credit card payments, or valuables like jewelry changing hands.

I wanted to have Lorelei on Why Are People Into That?! to talk about financial domination in part because of the sex work we’ve done together over the years, from the dungeons of the East Bay to the porn palaces of San Francisco.

LORELEI LEE: CASH PART 1.

LORELEI LEE: CASH PART 2.

She’s arranged for me to have more dicks to suck so she can cut me the biggest check possible, and I’ve talked countless men into splurging on a double so she and I could torment them side by side. Lorelei is a femme like a mysterious pink cocktail, a fizzy sweet lip-smacker with a strong deep spirit that will fuck up your brain if you underestimate its power. (Or actually even if you don’t.) I knew that she would share a profound analysis of money as an oh-so-slippery metaphor, as well as offer insights on the gleeful pleasure of deserving cash.

Lorelei has experience in the online world of “findomming,” where “cash pig” submissives are treated like “human ATMs.” As we podcast she easily slips into a demonstration of this language: “You exist only to prop me up. This is the entire reason you go to work. You might as well sign over your check to me.”

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The transaction is the turn on.
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Sometimes there is a Robin Hood aspect to this approach, as you will see scrolling through the emotional labor reparations hashtag #giveyourmoneytowomen. I get a heady thrill seeing so many women acting confidently entitled to being given money by men simply for being female in a patriarchal society.

As politically-minded a person as she is, for Lorelei the thrill of cash is visceral, instinctive. Growing up poor, she rarely experienced abundance. Although 17 years of sex work has given her financial independence, it’s come with the cost of stigma and discrimination—her erotic life has become bound up with the power of dollar (and hundred dollar) bills.

“The thing that’s thrilling me is having cash accumulate around me, rubbing it on my body, smelling it,” she says. “I love to fuck on it. I love to throw it around the room. I’m owning it, controlling it, stepping on it. I feel like I’m receiving power when I receive that money, power that I specifically felt the lack of at many times in my life.”

A previous Why Are People Into That?! guest, Princess Kali, devotes an entire chapter of her erotic humiliation book—Enough to Make You Blush—to financial domination.

She suggests a sensual approach:

“Open up your wallet so I can see your cold hard cash. Wider. Wider. I want you to spread that wallet wide open. Good, I want to see all the money. I want to stroke it with my fingers. Mmm do you mind if I stroke your money for a second?”

She also gives suggestions for using money as a tool of erotic D/S. Your partner might put you on a controlled budget with sexual positive reinforcement for good behavior. Your submissive can present cash at the same time every month, either to pay for something practical like a utility bill or something luxurious like designer shoes.

This kind of economic theory made me very uncomfortable until recently. I’ve been trying to grow the hell up about the role money plays in my life, aided by the support of several financial advisors who speak directly to me as a queer, anti-capitalist punk straddling several worlds. Raised comfortably middle class, I have been independently working-class my entire adult life, including many years working in various underground economies.

In particular, the coaching of my friend Damien Lux of Ride Free Fearless Money has helped me to realize I had done myself a disservice: by not educating myself about wealth, savings, or investment, I was actually internalizing the corruption I was trying to undermine — the messages that said that as a queer female artist, I don’t deserve stability, that self-sufficiency would always involve constant strife.

I had confused my true punk values of community sustainability with an empty “No Future” nihilism that actually came from fear. I was allowing money to mean the things I didn’t want it to mean, instead of realizing that I had the power to make it mean whatever I wanted.

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By not educating myself about wealth, savings, or investment, I was actually internalizing the corruption I was trying to undermine.
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I’ve made money from sex for a very long time, but it was the gleeful fetishism of FinDom sex workers that inspired me to think of my money as sexy. When I find something sexy I lust for it, yes, but I also want to talk about it, think about it, read about it. I think other women roughly my age are paying attention to this in new and refreshing ways.

Another previous YAPIT guest Alana Massey is writing a book about women and money. I’ve been getting advice about prosperity altars from the Money Witch. I can’t get enough of Bad With Money, a podcast by queer YouTube star and writer Gaby Dunn, which is as emotionally resonant as it is educational for me.

Why Are People Into Shame?!

I send the “GIF Guide to Getting Paid” by Ann Friedman to anyone I know who is about to tackle salary or contract rate negotiations of any kind: Even re-reading it, I find myself cringing at the awkwardness of expecting money, followed by shame that I’m not more assertive about what I deserve, which is only soothed by seeing these incredible women struggle with the same issues.

Financial domination is just like any other form of BDSM: It’s a practice that harnesses the psychological power of a social taboo for erotic purposes. This reminds us that the thing we trust with basic needs—like security and pride—is just so many pieces of paper. If wealth makes the rich powerful, then those of us who are not (and may never be) can take pleasure in the un-surveilled power of the cash that we earn.

As with many other aspects of my life, I am able to embody confidence by invoking the spirit of kink. In other words? When I turn something into a sex game in my mind, I’m usually better able to intuit the hidden rules of the game—and win.

The brownstone I lived in for eight months in 2009 and 2010 had few amenities — the building often smelled like leaking pipes, the carpets were threadbare in many places, and the steam heater in the corner was completely out of my control, resulting in quite a few freezing mornings and sweltering nights. It did, however, have a gas stove and oven which, the landlord had told me, was pretty new and “worked great.”

Unfortunately, everything else in the unit was electric, which meant that I’d need to set up separate utility accounts and pay for the gas every month just to run the stove and range.

“It’s like $10 to turn it on and then another $20-$30 per month depending on how much you use it,” she explained.

Yeah, I’m just not going to do that, then, I thought, doing the math in my head.

At that point, $30 was just a little bit less than my take-home after a day of making lattes, which is what I was doing every day that I wasn’t at my public radio internship. The rent on the apartment — which was the least expensive I could find in Seattle — was already going to cost well more than half of my monthly income. With student loan payments to top it off, I barely had living expenses to speak of, and the extra money I’d spend on the gas just didn’t seem worth it.

This wasn’t my first go-round with poverty: We grew up without much money, and I supported myself through college. But after graduation — when the student loan envelopes started showing up and I had to move out of my inexpensive college town to a city that actually had jobs — the situation was dire. But I knew how to handle it.

Every month, I’d scrutinize my budget, looking for things to trim or ways to increase my earnings.

I moonlit as a cocktail waitress. I considered selling plasma (again), but the bus ride to the clinic was too long to fit into my days. I didn’t have a car or health care (or a stove). I picked up odd jobs on Craigslist, receiving cash under the table for nights of cocktailing or working as a cater waiter. I visited food banks. I never bought clothing. I stopped shaving to save money on razors.

Eventually, I was able to get a slightly more lucrative job, began piling on freelance work, and basically never looked back.

I am very, very confident that I did everything in my power to provide myself the best life possible as a young adult, and that the choices I made were the correct choices. My life now would indicate that that’s the case. And still, without fail, when I tell someone or write about that time in my life, I’m met with a cascade of advice.

I am very, very confident that I did everything in my power to provide myself the best life possible as a young adult, and that the choices I made were the correct choices.

Well-meaning people who have never been poor are convinced that they know what I should have done. That subtle tweaks to my budget could somehow stretch my $9.50 per hour. I should have gotten a roommate. I should have lived somewhere cheaper. I should have found a better job.

Anyone who’s ever lived in poverty has probably had this experience.

In the U.S., we have become so accepting of the fact that poverty is not a symptom of a grossly unequal economy, or the result of numerous systemic failures, or the product of years of trickle-down economics, but instead, that the only thing standing between a poor person and the life of their dreams is their own decisions, their own choices, and their own failures.

This is why I would advise any person whose immediate reaction upon hearing about a friend, relative, or stranger on the Internet who is living in poverty is to offer unsolicited advice to hold their tongue (or fingers), at least long enough to consider what other forces contribute to poverty and how their “help” may actually be insulting, incorrect, and downright damaging.

In the U.S., we have become so accepting of the fact that poverty is not a symptom … but instead, that the only thing standing between a poor person and the life of their dreams is their own decisions, their own choices, and their own failures.

The Most Common Advice Doesn’t Add Up

The over-simplification of poverty is often apparent in the advice that gets disseminated by people who have money and companies who make money off of other people’s financial predicaments.

Earlier this year, an infographic circled around which underscored this fact. Created by a company called InvestmentZen, the infographic showed how to “build wealth on the minimum wage.”

Aside from the fact that it contained numerous logistical issues — it used the federal minimum wage, which isn’t accurate in most states, either because their wage is higher or lower due to tip-crediting — the graphic also seemed to be concerned about moralizing the decisions of poor people and less about actually helping anyone.

Advice from the graphic included “learning skills on YouTube,” only eating in-season produce, and remembering that “the best things in life are free.”

“You can make excuses, or you can do something about it,” the graphic chided. “It’s your choice to make.”

Twitter instantly took it to task; the response was so heated that it eventually led one of the men responsible for circulating to issue a retraction, calling many of the criticisms “fair.”

I suspect that the graphic was so easily mocked because the advice it selected was familiar. Despite the myriad systemic reasons that many people live in poverty, there are a handful of “tips” that well-meaning (most of the time) folks recycle with alarming regularity.

Despite the myriad systemic reasons that many people live in poverty, there are a handful of “tips” that well-meaning (most of the time) folks recycle with alarming regularity.

Move somewhere cheaper. Buy in bulk. Get rid of your car. Get a roommate. Eat out less.

These changes seem simple — if you just spent less money on groceries, you’d have more money! If you didn’t have a car, you could save hundreds on car insurance! — but they fail to take into account one crucial element of humanity and existence: The dollar amount of a thing doesn’t fully capture the value of it.

Most people who live in poverty are working jobs where their income is determined by how many hours they can spend on the job, which often don’t fall within typical commuting hours, and often run well over forty hours per week.

When you’re poor, your time — especially your free time — is extremely precious. And many of the prescribed tips for saving money cut into that free time, make it less enjoyable, or might even actively cost more money in the short term.

I’ve written before about the actual cost of moving — renting a truck, putting down a deposit, the financial hit of taking time off work to move — but recommending that someone relocate their entire life to save on rent also neglects to account for the real value of living in a place with a support system.

Whether it’s a family by birth or by choice, living near people you know offers a sense of responsibility and place — not to mention a couch to crash on if you get evicted and the potential for free childcare or other assistance.

Whether it’s a family by birth or by choice, living near people you know offers a sense of responsibility and place — not to mention a couch to crash on if you get evicted and the potential for free childcare or other assistance.

To illustrate this point, let’s use another common tip: giving up a car.

Access to transit is one of the single biggest investments that communities can make to help people get out of poverty. But overwhelmingly, transit systems are failing poor people. And for seniors or disabled people, taking the bus may be even more difficult if cities and transit authorities don’t accommodate for various mobility, vision, or hearing impairments.

Which means that the cost (both figurative and literal) of giving up a car might be steeper than keeping it. Which means that even if a person makes the choice to save money by riding the bus, the bus may not be there for them.

There’s also the issue of time and convenience, particularly if you live in a smaller city, which tend to have much spottier bus service.

We can look at it like this: Estimated cost of owning a car over a year: about $725 per month, according to AAA. That’s a lot, but compared to riding the bus (because let’s assume a person doesn’t have the upfront cash for a bike, a lock, and the gear they might need to commute in all weather), it’s not really.

Where I live, it costs about $5 per day to commute via bus, assuming I’m traveling inside the city and just going to work and back using a single method of transit. Multiply that by five days per week (though most people working minimum wage work more than that), and it’s about $100 per month. That’s still less than $725 — until you account for:

Two hours of commuting compared to thirty minutes of commuting (at $13/hour): $19.50/day in lost income, or $390 per month.

Cost of an extra hour of childcare to account for the commute time (at $13/hour, as well): $260 per month

The cost of using the bus for weekly grocery trips (which limit the choices a person has and reduces the ability to buy in bulk, another favorite piece of advice for people with means to give to poor people) and the occasional other appointment: about $50 per month.

Which equals $800 — and doesn’t take into account the fact that grocery shopping by bus is not ideal for someone with kids in tow. Additionally, taking the bus to get groceries makes it less likely that a person can comparison shop, visit multiple stores for ultimate savings, and purchase products that are less easy to carry, like fresh produce or bulk items.

You can also see from this example how interconnected so many of these pieces of advice are.

Get rid of your car” is a fine piece of advice in a vacuum, but when it’s coupled with “drive for Uber to make extra money,” you’ve now prescribed something that’s literally impossible. “Spend less on groceries” is fine on its own, but if you’re also recommending that someone switch to commuting by bike or bus and move to a less dense place with fewer food choices, you’ve now quadrupled the daily difficulty of their life.

And that has a real cost, even if it’s not tangible or numeric.

This, I think, is truly at the heart of the advice we tend to offer poor people: It implicitly says that we believe that they should be willing and able to exchange their own time on earth, comfort, happiness, and even physical health and safety just to scrape by.

Being Poor Is Really Expensive

The assumption that “simple advice” can dramatically change a person’s economic outlook assumes that a person’s poverty is solely the result of personal failings, rather than very real and costly systems of oppression, including legacy poverty, systemic racism, mass incarceration, punitive immigration policies, medical debt, and more.

Regardless of the personal choices a family might make to save money, there are some unavoidable costs that are baked into our financial and social systems.

Overdraft fees, late fees on missed bills, high-interest credit card fees, and payday lenders are just a few ways that poverty begets higher expenses. The average payday loan borrower — who is usually short just a few hundred dollars between paychecks — ends up paying more than 300% interest on their initial amount.

These companies make billions each year by offering people a necessary service that costs them an outrageously inflated price.

Banks also find ways to capitalize on people without money. Many checking accounts require that a person carry a minimum balance — and fine customers for every month that they don’t meet the requirement. And that’s assuming a person even uses a bank! An estimated 8% of Americans don’t use a bank, largely due to their low monthly income. As a result, they pay more money in fees at check cashing businesses or by using prepaid debit cards.

There are hundreds of small ways that being cash-poor can make it harder to save.

In addition to these fees and fines, a lack of funds in-hand can also mean paying more for services and products. Whether it’s putting charges on a credit card and paying interest or buying in smaller denominations (and thus paying more per unit), there are hundreds of small ways that being cash-poor can make it harder to save.

The Washington Post reported on a study on this subject:

When [researchers] compared households with similar consumption rates shopping at comparable stores — and controlling for two-ply TP — they found that the poor were less likely than wealthier households to buy bigger packages, or to time their purchases to take advantage of sales. By failing to do so, they paid about 5.9% more per sheet of toilet paper — a little less than what they saved by buying cheaper brands in the first place (8.8%).

Poor folks don’t buy single-use items because they never thought about buying in bulk — it’s often because they literally don’t have the money to do so, or don’t have a way to get bulk items home.

Our broken immigration system is also responsible for trapping new Americans (and their children) in low-income jobs, substandard housing, and legitimately dangerous transportation and work situations — all of which have a compounding effect on poverty.

Each year, immigrants pay billions into our tax coffers, only to get the short end of the economic stick.

New Americans are less likely to report wage theft, may experience housing discrimination, and of course, often have to pay massive sums of money to travel, bring relatives to the county, and send money back to their nation of origin.

And if you want to begin the process of obtaining citizenship? Expect to cough it up. Just becoming a US citizen can cost up to $900.

Mass incarceration also has a stark economic impact, specifically on the Black community — a population that already sees lower lifetime earnings and increased rates and instances of poverty.

Poor People Deserve To Taste Something Other Than Shame

One in four Black children born in the era of mass incarceration will have a parent who is incarcerated, which will limit that parent’s earning by an average of 40% over their lifetime. The cycle of incarceration is expensive at every single step — from the cost of arrests, legal fees, and fines, parole, and lost jobs and hours on the clock, evictions, and so much more — and effectively traps people in a feedback loop of poverty that’s nearly impossible to break.

Even those who aren’t themselves incarcerated pay for incarceration, though. The cost of visiting a spouse in prison (both in lost time and expenses), inflated commissary bills, prohibitively expensive phone bills, the cost of lost time due to traveling, court dates, and meetings, and legal fees make it impossible for some families to dig out.

Having poor parents also puts in motion a cycle of disadvantage (and not because poor people are just worse at raising their children). The vast majority of people who grow up poor stay poor for a variety of complex reasons — which means no amount of coupon-cutting or Costco shopping can dig some families out of poverty, and to suggest otherwise is just disrespectful.

Personal Choices Don’t Fix a Broken System

The InvestmentZen infographic was roundly mocked because it was a symptom of a larger problem, which is that people with means love to give advice to poor people. This serves two distinct purposes:

1. It makes people with means feel better about their means because they feel like they have wealth as a direct result of their own effort — and not systems and structures that helped them along the way; and
2. It makes people with means feel better about those systems, rather than being forced to confront them or work to dismantle them.

When the infographic said that a person “can’t earn minimum wage and live in an expensive city and be wealthy,” they weren’t telling a lie — but they were accepting implicitly that it’s okay for people who work full-time to live in poverty if they live in large cities.

Imagine if everyone took that advice — if every person working minimum wage up and fled all of the major cities to go live and work in smaller markets with less expensive rent. Cities literally could not function.

Despite the commonly held belief that only teens should or do work for the minimum wage, the fact of the matter is that millions of Americans of all ages, a/genders, and educational levels support their families on hourly low-wage jobs. That includes seniors, disabled people, and women of color.

Millions of Americans of all ages, a/genders, and educational levels support their families on hourly low-wage jobs. That includes seniors, disabled people, and women of color.

The answer, then, is not that poor people live differently, but instead, that we create a society and an economy where people who work full time can live in the community where they work.

No amount of cutting back on luxury spending or driving extra hours for Uber can change the fact that there is literally nowhere in the country where a minimum wage job can support a family, that good union jobs have been in decline for decades, or that housing costs have priced people out of their homes. Cutting coupons, commuting by bike, and enjoying outdoor activities can’t really fix that.

So, instead of telling poor people what they should do to work around a system that’s leaving more and more people behind every year, we need to consider how the system can bend and change to better fit the needs of all people.