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James Rayton

Tom Delaney

Tom Delaney talks through his decision to take the 10% Pledge — and his experience as an Australian growing up in an informal settlement in North India. 

Taking the 10% Pledge whilst living in an informal settlement: An interview with Tom Delaney

, I’ve recently been doing lots of speeches about giving 10% of your income to impactful nonprofits. In these talks, I’ve tried to describe my own reasons for taking the Pledge, and for dedicating my career to encouraging others to take it.

For me, the Pledge is not just about generosity—it's about justice. Here's why: 

I’m part of the global top 1% of earners (adjusted for cost of living)

, but I’ve done nothing extraordinary to deserve it. It’s almost entirely down to luck. If I’d been born in Haiti, Yemen, or Somalia, my life could have been drastically different. The 700 million people living below the poverty line of $2.15 per day haven’t done anything to deserve the hardships of their lives. This huge imbalance is deeply unfair.

Unlike the middle classes in the global North, the middle classes in India are exposed to the scale of this inequality on a daily basis, and it showed when I attended a conference in Bengaluru last month. The positive response to the idea of giving was overwhelming. The Indian conference had a much higher percentage of attendees sign the pledge than others we’ve attended in the global North.

One interaction I had stood out. It’s the story of Tom Delaney, an Australian by birth who grew up in an informal settlement in North India, and still lives there today. Tom was motivated to pledge by seeing firsthand (and uniquely experiencing) the discrepancy in lifestyles represented by those living in the settlement and his family back in Australia. Tom volunteers in a nonprofit, 

, and despite the challenges of his environment, he made the 10% Pledge last month.

I caught up with Tom to learn more about his inspiring message:

Q: Tom, could you tell me more about your upbringing?

My parents are both Australian; dad trained as a social worker while mum had a maths and computer science degree. After a short-term trip to India in their uni days, their life plans changed drastically, committing themselves to work for – and with – the poor. They made the unusual decision to move into a slum (much to the dismay of my grandparents) – to better build relationships with the people they wanted to serve, and to better understand the root causes of poverty, and potential solutions.

So I grew up at the intersection of two very different worlds. Much of my time was spent playing with the neighbourhood kids – some weren’t getting square meals at home, others were facing domestic violence, many more were receiving grossly inadequate education and healthcare. But we would also visit Australia and marvel at the wide roads with barely a person on them, or the beautiful public libraries, with thousands of books available for free. I’m very grateful that my upbringing taught me what a beautiful but broken world we live in – how incredible its people but also how insane its inequality.

Q: I often talk about the challenges people face when living below the poverty line. Can you explain what that looks like in your community?

Poverty is a lack of cash, which translates to a lack of control over one’s own life, often leading to agonising decisions. Let me give an example. Last year, I published with my mother a 

reflection on public healthcare accessibility

 where we tell the story of Aliya, 16, who had been suffering terrible stomach pains and had awful constipation. Her family had taken her on a circuit of private hospitals, racking up heavy bills but not getting a proper diagnosis. Now they faced a terrible choice – go further into debt, at a high interest rate, which could potentially result in them losing their house, or give up on seeking medical care for Aliya. Thankfully, they chose to seek further care – if they hadn’t, Aliya (who was eventually diagnosed with abdominal tuberculosis and was in danger of a large intestine rupture) would have likely died.

Sadly, this type of scenario is quite common. To me, it encapsulates what poverty is all about – an inability to meet all one’s needs, a feeling (and reality) of powerlessness amidst forces (governments, corporations, diseases) beyond one’s understanding and control.

Q: I’m guessing with Australian parents, you might have more resources than others around you. Does that create tension living alongside people in very different financial circumstances? How do you navigate that?

Most days, I am asked for money. This may be from a beggar on the street corner who I don’t know at all, or from a friend struggling to pay for her child’s school uniform, or from a neighbour hit by a sudden medical crisis. Naturally, this creates both internal and interpersonal tensions: I want to help, but also need to be wary of dependency traps and being perceived as a walking ATM. I try to ask myself and the individual some key questions when I decide whether to give my money. Firstly, will this help them in the long term? For instance, I’m much happier giving towards education than expenditure on wedding or festival feasts. Secondly, I ask the person I’m giving money to whether they could also contribute something. For instance, in helping people get a government 

 – with significant health, economic and environmental benefits – my NGO expects people to pay half the cost, making it more likely that they will value and use the gas connection. Finally, I ask whether the person can give back or pass it on. Reciprocity is innate, and most people like to help others. I often accept the generosity of my neighbours inviting me for a meal. At Dignity Vision Education International we also encourage people to pass on skills they’ve learnt – for instance, asking kids who became literate through our after-school program to join us in teaching others.

I realise that some might find these types of questions a bit paternalistic, and I agree that paternalism is a real problem. However, I also see quite a bit of “present bias”

 in my community and I’ve found that some of these frameworks can help overcome that.

Q: What inspired you to sign the 10% Pledge?

Signing the 10% Pledge was a no-brainer for me. I have all my basic needs met comfortably, so it’s clear that my money would generate a lot more happiness and wellbeing in somebody else’s hands.

Some of my poorest friends have taught me a thing or two about generosity, by sharing a meal or giving to a beggar. If they can give self-sacrificially, why shouldn’t those of us who can give at very little cost to ourselves do so? Put it this way – if you earn $50k per year and donate 10% to Against Malaria Foundation, you would still be in the top 2-3% of global income earners, and you would also save one life every year! The life you help save is more than a statistic; they are a person who is just as real as you or me!

As a Christian, I often think of the principle that ‘he who has two shirts should share with him who has none’. And we have a lot more than two shirts! If you follow any other of the world’s major religions, you will find similar injunctions to give generously. But there’s no need to appeal to religion: the simple economic logic of diminishing marginal returns tells us that our resources will do a lot more good in the hands of those who have much less than we do.

I encourage anyone reading this to sign the Pledge too, making a commitment to your future self. The great thing about Giving What We Can is that you can make a life-changing or life-saving difference in the lives of some of the world’s poorest people - without needing to do anything as drastic as my parents did!

My neighbours are not poor because they are lazy – many work 12-hour days, 6 or 7 days a week. Nor are they poor because they’re stupid – some keep track of the amounts of money owed to ten different creditors, without writing anything down. The good news is, this means the cycle of poverty is breakable: my neighbours are not ‘basket cases’ doomed to remain poor forever. They have the skills, ingenuity and work ethic to build better lives for themselves. If we can help them clamber on to the bottom rung of the ladder, through effective interventions like those promoted by Giving What We Can, they can start climbing it.

Tom's story is a powerful reminder that giving is about more than generosity – it's crucial to our shared humanity. The global distribution of wealth is highly unjust – but we can play our own part in changing that, by recognising that we won the lottery of birth, and giving back to those who didn't.

Martin Jacobson

Martin Jacobson talks through his decision to take the 10% Pledge — why he was initially shy to be public about his giving and the reasons he decided the benefits were worth it. 

The virtues of virtue signalling 

. This means publicly pledging to donate 10% of my lifetime income to effective philanthropic activities. But even though I only signed the Pledge today, I have been donating 10% of my income to such charities over the last two years, without pledging or telling anyone about it. One reason for this is that I have been worried about coming off as a virtue-signaling, self-righteous braggart. In this essay, I examine my hesitation about pledging more closely, along with some considerations for why I think there are good reasons to take a public pledge despite this fear. In doing so, I hope to explain that the reason for my public commitment is not (or at least not only

) because I am such a self-aggrandizing jerk, but because I believe that making a public giving pledge is a good thing to do.

Before considering the topic of pledging, it is important to provide some context about the reasons for donating to effective charities. While there are many reasons, I want to mention two: 1) That it is good for the world, and 2) that it is good for you.

The first of these two claims is the most obvious, but it is still worth highlighting. Giving to charity can do a lot of good, at least if you are careful about where to donate. It turns out that there is a huge spread in the effectiveness of charities, such that carefully choosing where to donate can increase the impact of your donation a hundredfold or more. In effect, this means that you may do more good giving one dollar to a highly effective charity than if you were to give a hundred dollars to a mediocre one. Hence, it is fundamental to carefully evaluate where to donate. Charity evaluators like GiveWell are dedicated to researching these questions and provide great guidance on how to donate.

For example, one charity that is often mentioned due to its exceptional cost-effectiveness is the Against Malaria Foundation, or AMF. GiveWell estimates that AMF can save the life of one person for $3,000-$8,000 (GiveWell, 2024). This means that donating 10% of a Swedish median wage would enable you to save one life approximately every two years. Thus, by merely taking this one action, your expected contribution to human welfare could very well be greater than that of an M.D.

And aside from individual impact, I also believe that there are reasons to consider our potential 

 impact if everyone adopted donating at this level. For reasons discussed below, these universalizing considerations are central to the theory behind public giving pledges. As Scott Alexander (2014) writes:

 as a foundation for morality, a world in which everybody gives ten percent of their income to charity is a world where about 

 go to charity a year. Solving global poverty forever is estimated to cost about $100 billion a year for the couple-decade length of the project. That’s about two percent of the money that would suddenly become available. If charity got seven trillion dollars a year, the first year would give us enough to solve global poverty, eliminate all treatable diseases, fund research into the untreatable ones for approximately the next forever, educate anybody who needs educating, feed anybody who needs feeding, fund an unparalleled renaissance in the arts, permamently [sic] save every rainforest in the world, and have enough left over to launch five or six different manned missions to Mars. That would be the first year. Goodness only knows what would happen in Year 2. 

As a political theorist, I also find this vision of widespread philanthropy politically inspiring – as a way to provide social goods. While for-profit entrepreneurship can help us serve many social needs, other problems provide little or no profit motive incentivizing market solutions. The most commonly advocated alternative to market solutions is coercive state activity. However, for both intrinsic and instrumental reasons, I am wary of such coercion. For example, I am deeply worried that such strategies invite knowledge and power problems by attracting rent-seeking or incentivizing abuse.

 Philanthropy offers a third alternative for the provision of common goods.

 Effective giving is often effective precisely because it targets those individuals and causes that remain underserved by market activities. Hence, giving to such philanthropy is an opportunity to also practice what I preach, and to live the sort of change I would want to see more broadly.

Aside from the good done for the world, I also believe that doing good is good for you. In my academic research, I tend to explore extremely niche ideas and know that there is only a small chance that my work will in any substantial way change the world. While I believe that these ideas could have a tremendous positive impact in the slight eventuality that they were implemented, I also face the reality that most academic publications are read only by other academics, before falling into complete obscurity. It is a bit discouraging knowing that this, in most likelihood, will be the result of my life's work. In this context, knowing that I at least contributed something concrete to the improvement of the world is incredibly meaningful. Donating effectively is kind of like an existential insurance policy, assuring me that my life was actually net positive for the world.

Such assurance is especially important in a world that is full of problems, many of which we cannot solve on our own. This easily leads to despair. However, while it is not within my influence to single-handedly solve the climate crisis, factory farming, or global poverty, it is within my influence to determine whether I will be contributing to these problems or to their solution. This shift in focus from large problems outside of your control to your individual impact, which very much is up to you, provides a sense of agency and resolve. Often, donating to effective organizations working towards these goals is much more effective than only changing your individual behavior.

Furthermore, there is some psychological literature suggesting that people who do good for others also tend to be happier. If there is one thing that brings joy and meaning to our lives, it is helping others. Thus, people often report gaining more happiness from spending money on others than spending it on themselves.

 Hence, I don’t believe that people should donate to philanthropy despite the fact that this would make them miserable. On the contrary, I think that donating will make them better off. Being good is an integral part of living a happy and flourishing life.

II. Society's Persecuted Minority: "Do-Gooders"

Even though altruism is more or less universally recognized as something noble, clearly trying to signal your benevolent behavior is much less appreciated. In many religions and wisdom traditions, humility is highlighted as the sign of the truly virtuous. The term “virtue signaling” is usually used in a pejorative sense, and is associated with people disingenuously engaging in pro-social behavior, not because they love their neighbors, but rather as a way to signal their personal moral worth or superiority. If one’s seemingly altruistic actions are ultimately motivated by a desire to assert one’s superiority over others, this would turn our evaluation of the behavior from admirable to obnoxious. No one likes a braggart, and no one likes it when people try to put others down by acting as if they are superior to them. Even though this is far from the only reason to be public about something “virtuous,” it’s often the assumed intention, which means that people who are public about “doing good” are often judged negatively by others.

A related concept is “do-gooder derogation” – the negative perception of people who act exceptionally morally. People who deviate too far from the norm tend to be judged negatively by others. And while this makes sense if that deviation is towards anti-social behavior, the judgment also extends to people who deviate from the norm by acting more pro-socially than is considered “normal”.

One example of such do-gooder derogation is vegaphobia – or negative views towards vegetarians and vegans. For example, one study found that the general population rates vegans lower than common prejudice target groups like atheists and immigrants. And tellingly, vegans who chose the diet out of ethical considerations were more negatively judged than those who did so for health reasons (MacInnis and Hodson, 2017).

For this reason, I often avoid discussing veganism and always become a bit awkward at dinner parties when people start asking me about my special diet. If I were honest about my reasons for not eating meat, explaining how billions of animals suffer and die for frivolous enjoyment in what is one of the most massive moral atrocities of our time, people would most likely lose their appetite. And the blame for this would not be on the meat eaters who are actively contributing to this suffering, but rather on the person pointing it out.

One possible explanation for this is the meat paradox: most people who eat meat do not want to harm animals. Thus, they are persistently in a state of cognitive dissonance. Vegans bring additional attention to this issue, and one way to reduce this dissonance is to discard the vegans. We all want to be the heroes of our own stories. No one thinks of themselves as a villain. But this narrative breaks down when we are reminded of our moral failures. And when this self-image is challenged, it is easier to put down “do-gooders” as disingenuous jerks, rather than face this damage to one’s self-image.

Given these issues, it seems socially risky to be too public about trying to act morally good. This is one reason why I have been silent about my donations. Sure, giving to those with fewer resources seems like a noble thing, but being all in other people’s faces about it seems like a very ignoble thing. One can get many of the above-mentioned benefits from donating, even if nobody knows about it. So the simple solution seems to be to donate, without making a fuss about it.

III. A Theory of Moral Sentiments and Amoral Behaviour

However, I believe that there are important reasons to be public about doing good. Partly, I believe that this leads people to update away from having a needlessly bleak view of others. With a bleak view of humanity, we will act on false and overly pessimistic information, and thereby forgo possible opportunities to improve the world. Consider how high-trust societies tend to do immensely better than their low-trust counterparts on virtually every metric. Hence, work like Bregman’s (2020) 

, which encourages us to update to a less cynical and more realistic view of people, can be immensely important.

Even more importantly, I believe that there are socio-psychological reasons to spread norms of good behavior. Consider the question of why so few people follow a vegan diet, or give (in a significant way) to charity. Even among moral philosophers, who tend to agree with vegan arguments in principle, only a minority actually practice these views. How is this dissonance possible?

One important explanation comes from the social psychology of behavioral change. Most people’s behavior is not determined by what they see as 

. In other words, people tend to do not necessarily what they believe is morally correct but rather what they believe would be expected by their peer group. This can be connected to Adam Smith’s idea that we tend to judge ourselves through the eyes of an “impartial spectator” (Smith, 2022). But what the spectator is judging is not the extent to which we live up to idealized moral values, but the extent to which we deviate from the assumed norm of our community.

To give an example, consider corruption. Interestingly, people in high-corruption societies usually condemn corruption morally and wish that it would disappear. However, they still engage in corruption, since this is what they believe that others would do in a similar situation. Hence, if you take a person from a low-corruption society and move them to a high-corruption context, their behavior is very likely to adapt, even if their moral views do not. When people engage in corruption, they are actually often playing by the rules. Not by the formal rules of the law, or the moral rules they themselves embrace, but by 

in this particular informal institutional context. They are merely following the standard operating procedure of their society.

This observation is two-sided. On the negative side, it explains why people might go along with morally outrageous behavior, as long as this is socially encouraged and expected from them. But on the flip side, it also indicates that social norms can be a very powerful enforcement mechanism for pro-social values, even when this is costly to the individual.

Imagine, for example, a society in which everyone is vegan. The first person to deviate from this norm would instantly be condemned as a moral monster. Similarly, in a society where everyone is expected to donate 10% to effective social causes, the first person to defect from this would instantly be seen with suspicion. Hence, I believe that many norms supporting pro-social behavior could become stable and self-enforcing if they were successfully implemented. In a society where pro-sociality is the norm, the pressure to conform would be a powerful decentralized mechanism for upholding and enforcing pro-sociality.

Just as our behavior is determined by what is normal, what is normal is also determined by our behavior. This goes back to the age-old question in social science between individualism and structuralism: are structures created by individual behavior or is individual behavior determined by the structures? Ultimately, this is a false dilemma. These arise mutually and are in constant dialectical interaction with each other.

One important implication of this is that we can change what conformist pressure we experience by also changing our peer group. By entering a community in which people are more likely to act morally, it becomes easier to do so yourself.

But the insight that actions determine norms also leads to a very natural next step: 

. Just as we are influenced by our peer groups, our peers are influenced by us. When it comes to informal rules in use, we are not only rule followers but also rule makers. So by changing our behavior, we not only have a direct impact through our actions, but also an indirect impact on other people by shifting the norms. This opens up a form of moral contagion in which early adopters of an ideal make it easier for the next people to also adopt it. At best, this would enable a domino effect toward new norms (Freeman, 2020; Hazell,2021; Sunstein, 2019).

There are several important implications from this observation. First, this indicates that even if comparatively lower-income people might have less of a direct effect from their giving, their taking a public giving pledge can still have significant indirect effects by changing norms.

 Secondly, this analysis suggests that you can also cause indirect harm by reinforcing harmful norms. When you act in socially harmful ways, you not only cause direct harm, but you also tacitly license other people to act similarly. Thirdly, this is a reason to take universalizability criteria seriously. Your actions are not only your actions but the norms by which others live. Hence, it is prudent not only to ask “What is the correct action in this particular instance?” but also “What is the general norm that I want to socially support?”

While this might sound compelling in theory, one may ask how realistic it is to truly change social norms. But we can find several examples of significant shifts towards more desirable norms within living memory. When I was growing up, homophobic jokes were commonplace in a way that would be completely unacceptable today. We have moved from a norm where homosexuality was taboo to one in which it is homophobia that is shunned! While homophobia is far from eradicated, it is still extremely striking how much has changed within the last few decades.

Notice, however, that in order to shift norms by acting in a particular way, it is crucial that we are open about these actions. What determines social norms is not what others do and approve of 

 that they do and approve of. So even if a large number of people secretly practiced effective charity, this would not have any effect on social norms.

This brings us back to the original question motivating this essay: Should you be public about your charitable donations? I have been worried that doing so would be perceived as self-aggrandizing or obnoxious virtue signaling – that such immodest boastfulness would reduce the moral value of these actions. However, by concealing my donations, I have missed the chance to also spread the norm of effective giving. This wasted opportunity strikes me as a moral mistake in itself. Clearly signaling our virtuous behavior can have an important moral role, not in highlighting our character, but rather in spreading pro-social norms.

Norms are sticky, and changing them is costly. However, they are not completely fixed. We should celebrate the early movers willing to incur these costs for changing norms. While virtue signaling is often perceived as objectionable, engaging in costly virtue signaling to shift social norms toward more pro-social and moral equilibrium seems like an admirable thing to do. For this reason, I have decided to add my name to the list of almost 10,000 people who have signed the 🔸 10% Pledge, and to explain my reasons for doing so in this essay. Thereby, I hope to also inspire others to do the same.

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Lucas Moore

10% Pledger Lucas Moore shares how Peter Singer's ideas shook his sense of what's "normal" and inspired him to take the 10% Pledge — and why it's been one of the best decisions he's ever made. 

How Peter Singer’s ideas transformed my life

! We're encouraging pledgers to share their stories, quotes, memories, and hopes for the Pledge and for Giving What We Can. Kicking things off over on our side, here's a story from our very own Effective Giving Global Coordinator and Incubator Luke Moore! We hope it hits home for you as much as it did for us :) 

When I first encountered Peter Singer’s work back in 2017, it felt a bit like a moral earthquake. The ethical ground I knew shifted beneath my feet, and I suddenly found myself seeing the world through a radically different lens. For years, I had lived with a sense of general discomfort about inequality, but it was abstract, something I thought about in passing but didn’t feel compelled to act on. Singer’s ideas shook me out of that complacency. He didn’t just present a theoretical case for why we should care about the suffering of others; he made it personal. He showed that, if we’re honest, we all have an 

 to act — and that the moral cost of inaction is far higher than we typically acknowledge.

Singer’s central insight is deceptively simple. He uses the metaphor of a child drowning in a pond. Most of us would have no hesitation jumping in to save that child, even if it meant ruining our clothes or being late for an important meeting. The morality is crystal clear: the child’s life is worth more than our inconvenience, or the cost of replacing our laptop and clothes. But then Singer makes a more troubling point: every day, people around the world are drowning in poverty and preventable diseases, and we are ignoring it. Just like that child in the pond, they need help. Yet unlike the child, they aren’t right in front of us, and we don’t feel the same moral urgency to act.

For me, the shift happened when I realised the stark inequality that comes with being born in a high income country. I wasn’t wealthy by any stretch, but simply by the fact that I was born to parents with a median household income in the UK, I actually was among the richest people in the world. That realisation hit me with some force. Why wasn’t I, and everyone I knew, doing more? Here I was, with access to resources that could dramatically improve the lives of others, and yet I had been living as if this disparity just didn’t exist. The wealth and security I took for granted — the ability to go to the doctor, access to education, to live in a safe home — were luxuries that far too many people will never experience.

For many of us, the privilege of living in a high-income country can make global inequality seem abstract. It’s easy to feel that the problem is just too large, too distant to have any real bearing on our lives. But that’s exactly what Singer challenges us to reconsider: just because we don’t see the suffering up close doesn’t mean it’s not happening. And just because it’s far away doesn’t mean we don’t have a moral responsibility to do something about it.

Once you accept the idea that we should help, the next question becomes, how? The obvious answer might be to donate to charity, but not all charities are created equal. This is where Singer’s work connects to something deeply practical: the importance of effective giving. Not all donations are equally impactful. It’s not just about giving more; it’s about giving wisely.

Take malaria, for example. A bed net costs just a few pounds, and yet it can protect a child from a disease that kills around 600,000 people each year. It’s hard to think of a more cost-effective intervention, and yet most people have no idea that something as simple as a bed net could save a life. This is where Singer’s philosophy becomes more than an abstract moral principle: it becomes a call to action. It’s about recognizing that, when we give, we should give to organisations that have a proven track record of turning donations into life-saving interventions.

This idea of “effective altruism,” which is central to Singer’s work, changed how I thought about giving. It wasn’t enough to give a small amount here and there to whatever charity seemed worthy, or asked. I began to research where my money could have the most impact. I came across organisations like GiveWell, which evaluates charities based on their cost-effectiveness at improving lives, and I saw just how much more could be done with even a modest amount.

This was a moment of real personal reckoning. I couldn’t ignore the fact that, as someone with access to fantastical resources (by global standards), I had a responsibility to act. Singer had made the moral case — and the practical case — for why I should give more, but also why I should give smarter.

Singer’s work introduced me to Giving What We Can, an organisation that supports a global movement of people committed to giving effectively and significantly. Seeing so many others who had already taken the 10% Pledge — committing to donate 10% of their income to highly effective charities for the rest of their lives — inspired me to take that step myself. Taking the pledge didn’t just feel like a moral decision; it felt like a step toward consistency. I had been thinking about these issues for years, but the pledge was the moment I decided to stop just thinking and start doing. It was the moment I said: “I can make a difference, and I will”.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through this process, it’s that the biggest obstacle to giving is often inaction, not a lack of resources. For most of us, the question isn’t whether we can afford to give; it’s whether we’re willing to prioritise the lives of others over fleeting luxuries that ultimately matter far less.

Singer’s work helped me see that we can — and should — be doing more to help others. It’s easy to feel like we’re too small, too distant, or too overwhelmed by the world’s problems to make a real difference. But the truth is, when we choose to act, the impact is larger than we realise.

That’s why I’m inviting you to take the pledge too. By doing so, you’ll commit to donating a portion of your income to the most effective charities out there. It’s not about making a grand gesture or feeling morally superior. It’s about making a consistent, thoughtful decision to join a global movement and together help solve some of the world's biggest problems.

Peter Singer’s ideas were a turning point for me, and I believe they can be for you too. Take the pledge. Start giving. Because we all have the power to make a difference, and now we know how to do it.

Grace Adams

Giving What We Can is celebrating our 15th birthday!

Since Giving What We Can was formally founded in 2009, with just 23 founding members, the community has grown significantly – and we’re approaching 10,000 10% Pledgers (hopefully in the next couple of months)! The community as it stands today has now donated over $250 million and is predicted to donate over $1 billion across the lifetimes of our members.

Blog

Taking the 10% Pledge whilst living in an informal settlement: An interview with Tom Delaney

The virtues of virtue signalling

How Peter Singer’s ideas transformed my life

Giving What We Can is celebrating our 15th birthday!

Announcing Sjir Hoeijmakers as the new CEO of Giving What We Can

Can money buy happiness? A review of new data

Effective Giving & Impactful Careers: A Webinar Series

A Visit to Suvita in India

The "Progressive Pledge”

GWWC Newsletter: October 2024