The false prophet of free

There's a peculiar form of moral gatekeeping that plagues those of us working in social impact, community transformation, and movement building. It arrives in the form of righteous indignation, often cloaked in the language of solidarity: "If you truly cared, you'd do this for free." "Charging money makes you just another capitalist." "Real change-makers don't profit from their work." 

This criticism reveals a fundamental confusion, one that is not only intellectually dishonest but practically destructive. It confuses capitalism with markets and trade, and in doing so, it perpetuates the very systems of exploitation it claims to oppose. 

Let me be clear: I charge for my services. I charge for the educational courses I've spent years developing. I charge for the expertise I've cultivated through decades of practice, study, and lived experience. And I make no apologies for it. 

Not because I am a capitalist. But because I am a worker. 

The confusion between markets and capitalism 

Capitalism is not simply "buying and selling things." It is a specific economic system characterized by the private ownership of the means of production, the extraction of surplus value from labor, and the accumulation of wealth as an end in itself. It is a system where profit is funneled upward, where workers are alienated from the value they create, and where growth is pursued without regard for human or ecological cost. 

Markets and trade, on the other hand, have existed for millennia across vastly different economic systems; socialist, cooperative, commons-based, and gift economies all involve exchange. The exchange of goods, services, knowledge, and labor is not inherently exploitative. What matters is “how” that exchange is structured, “who” benefits from it, and “what” is done with the surplus it generates. 

When I charge for my work, I am not extracting surplus value from exploited labor. I have structured my practice as a non-profit. I have capped my salary. Every cent of profit is reinvested; into supporting grassroots movements, funding projects that create positive impact, writing and subsidizing access for those who cannot afford to pay. This is not capitalism. This is economic justice in practice. 

The material reality of doing this work 

Here is what the "do it for free" crowd conveniently ignores: hosting a website costs money. Computers cost money. Desk space costs money. Childcare costs money. Food costs money. Healthcare costs money. 

I, like everyone else, have a family to feed. I have rent to pay. I have material needs that cannot be met with good intentions and ideological purity. To suggest that I should donate my labor freely; while simultaneously paying for all the infrastructure required to deliver that labor; is not a call for justice. It is a call for self-exploitation. 

And here's the deeper irony: the people making these demands are rarely living in communes, growing their own food, and existing outside the money economy. They are participating in the same material world I am. They pay for their housing. They pay for their internet. They purchase the devices on which they type their critiques. Yet somehow, I am expected to subsidize their education while they subsidize nothing in return. 

This is not solidarity. This is entitlement dressed up as activism. 

The devaluation of knowledge work 

When we give our labor away for free, especially intellectual, emotional, and educational labor, we do not elevate its value. We destroy it. 

People will spend $2,000 on a new television without blinking. They'll drop $500 on a designer dress, $1,200 on the latest smartphone, $100 on a night out. But ask them to pay $300 for a course that could fundamentally shift how they understand systems of oppression, how they organize their community, or how they build sustainable movements? Suddenly, it's too much. Suddenly, “you're” the greedy one. 

This did not happen by accident. 

We, activists, educators, movement builders, trained people to devalue our work by underpricing it or giving it away. We internalized the capitalist lie that only "productive" labor (the kind that generates commodities) deserves compensation, while reproductive, care-based, and knowledge work should be done out of love, passion, or moral duty. 

This is the same logic that has kept teachers underpaid, care workers invisible, and organizers broke. It is the same logic that demands women perform emotional labor for free, that expects Black and brown intellectuals to educate white people without compensation, that insists disabled activists explain ableism over and over again without support. 

When we price our work so low that it appears worthless, we reinforce the idea that it “is” worthless. When something is free, it is treated as disposable. When it is expensive, it is regarded as valuable, protected, and taken seriously. We need to stop apologizing for valuing ourselves. 

The responsibility that comes with charging 

But here's the other side of this equation, the part that separates exploitative capitalism from ethical exchange: once we charge properly for our work, we take on the responsibility to redistribute that surplus. This is not optional. It is the ethical foundation of charging at all. 

In my practice, this looks like offering sliding scale fees, creating scholarships, publishing free resources, and using revenue to fund projects that cannot sustain themselves. It means that those who can pay, especially those with institutional backing, organizational budgets, or personal wealth, subsidize access for those who cannot. 

This is how we build an economy of care within a system that is hostile to it. This is how we keep knowledge accessible while ensuring that those who produce it can survive. 

And I am not alone in this. Many of us working in transformative spaces already do this; we write publicly, share our frameworks freely, offer mentorship without charge, and show up in community spaces without invoicing. But we do this because we have created the material conditions to do so. We do this because we charged enough, elsewhere, to afford the luxury of generosity. 

Free labor is not sustainable. Subsidized labor, funded by fairly compensated work, is.

Reclaiming the right to be paid 

If we want to build a world beyond capitalism, we cannot do it by starving the people trying to build it. 

We cannot ask organizers to burn out. We cannot ask educators to go into debt. We cannot ask caregivers and healers to work themselves into exhaustion while we valorize their sacrifice. 

The revolution will not be powered by unpaid labor. 

It will be built by people who are fed, rested, supported, and compensated fairly for their contributions. It will be built by economic models that recognize the value of reproductive and intellectual work, that redistribute surplus toward collective liberation, and that refuse the false binary between "passion" and "profit." 

So yes, I charge for my work. And so should you. 

Not because we are capitalists, but because we are workers who deserve to live with dignity. Not because we are greedy, but because we understand that sustainability is a prerequisite for long-term transformation. Not because we don't care about access, but because we have built systems that ensure those who need it most can still receive it. 

The question is not whether we charge. The question is whether we do so with integrity, transparency, and a commitment to redistribution. 

And if someone tells you that charging for your labor makes you complicit in capitalism, ask them this: Who benefits when transformative knowledge is locked behind poverty wages or exhausted martyrdom? 

Not the movements. Not the people. Only the systems we're trying to dismantle. We deserve to be paid. Our work has value. And we will not apologize for refusing to disappear into unpaid labor while the world burns. 

Let that be the standard.

illuminem Voices is a democratic space presenting the thoughts and opinions of leading Sustainability & Energy writers, their opinions do not necessarily represent those of illuminem.

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