Surviving the Shopocalypse: When Fair Trade Won’t Save the World

It started out simply enough. On our way back from Asia, my wife and I spent several weeks in cheap hotels and crashed couches, eating whatever was offered or whatever was cheap and easy. By the time we got home we had picked up enough extra pounds to fill an extra carry-on. So, we did what any reasonable couple would do: make a grandiose plan to completely rearrange our eating habits, to be executed immediately.

This went as well as could be expected for two people not used to dieting or cooking in a way that couldn’t pull all the flavor from fat and sugar. Over time, fewer tears were shed and we found a few recipes we liked, and we even ended up eating more fruits and vegetables than before, but we didn’t have much to show for it, healthwise. What we did take out of the experience, though, was awareness. Inextricably mingled throughout the blogs and websites we consulted for recipes and information was an all-consuming distrust for Big Agra, Big Pharma, Big Everything. We did our best to remain pragmatic and sort out the nutritional from the conspiratorial, but over time we found ourselves caring as much or more about how the food was made as we did about what was in it.

“Coke is everywhere,” she said, acknowledging not only the ubiquity of the beverage but the company’s vast web of corporate ties. “If I can’t buy this, what can I buy?”So, when it came time to do the shopping, we knew how the producers were cutting out nutrients and skimping on safety, and we knew what a raw deal the grocery workers were getting in terms of wages and health benefits, but, there wasn’t much we could do differently. Our town didn’t have a wide selection of grocery stores and we didn’t have the income to buy exclusively from the boutique farms, or even the Whole Foods, which wouldn’t have solved all of the problems, anyway. There were choices we could make that were better than others in terms of nutrition, or justice, or financial responsibility, but there was nothing that checked all the boxes.

No matter what we picked, it was always a compromise. We began our search thinking that we would find a way to shop ethically that could actually work for us, but instead we learned how impossible that was for us where we were. Rather than face the constant reminders that we weren’t contributing successfully to the causes we had embraced, it became easier and easier to just detach, emotionally and socially, and stop thinking about these things altogether.

And we hardly got the worst of it. I watched one friend cycle into and out of a passion for labor rights over the course of a few weeks. Each day brought a flurry of social media posts about corporate abuses and the ever-growing list of products she would abstain from in order to send a message to their producers. This was easy when it was places like Wal-mart, where a young, trendy person wouldn’t want to spend her money anyway, but being a conscientious individual, she kept following the logic, even when it led to places that were personally uncomfortable. She finally reached her breaking point in Coca-Cola. She dutifully posted the account of how certain factories in South America were run with a heavy helping of guns and machetes and very little pay, but instead of the usual righteous anger, her words were marked by resignation. “Coke is everywhere,” she said, acknowledging not only the ubiquity of the beverage but the company’s vast web of corporate ties. “If I can’t buy this, what can I buy?” I never heard the answer to that question, because I never heard her talk about another boycott again.

You can’t do everything, so don’t do anything. It doesn’t sound reasonable when stated plainly. Even the starfish poem in grandma’s bathroom says as much. “I can’t save all of them,” says the man throwing beached starfish back into the ocean, “but I can save this one.” But, it’s a much harder idea to practice. Instead, we understand that to act without a comprehensive solution is to be a kind of hypocrite. William Saletan used this logic when he told proponents of Brendan Eich’s resignation that there were thousands more people who would need to be reprimanded if the yardstick were applied equally. Some people took his satire at face value, but his intended meaning was clear: if you’re not willing to go all the way, don’t go at all.

The culture wars are rife with this kind of rhetoric: If Hobby Lobby won’t stop supporting Chinese abortions by buying Chinese goods, they have no business trying to stop American abortions among their employees. If John Piper boycotts Burger King for their “Proud Whopper,” what business does he have buying food from any of the other LGBT-positive companies now dominating American business? Much of the time in these debates, what the rules are isn’t nearly as important as whether or not they’re being applied equally.

This technique shows up more often than it should, but only, I think, because it’s so powerful. No one wants to be seen as a hypocrite, even if the alternative is being bad in a way that’s self-consistent. What starts as a healthy revulsion for hypocrisy so easily turns against the good. Was my diet better when I was on my imperfect organic plan or when I stopped trying at all? Did my friend do more good when she cared to inform others about corporate abuses and reprimanded a handful of companies financially, or when she gave up altogether? What starts as a recognition of our own shortcomings can quickly morph into crushing despair that hurts not only us, but the people we mean to help.

When I think about my own failures and hypocrisy, especially in my efforts at ethical shopping, there’s a Bible story that often comes to mind. In the second Book of Kings, Naaman the Aramite hears of the power of God and seeks out the prophet Elisha so that he can be cured of a debilitating skin disorder. Initially Naaman scoffs at the prophet, but eventually he humbles himself and submits to his orders, and for his faith he is healed. In gratitude, Naaman vows to forsake his native gods and worship only the Lord from that day forward. But then, he asks this:

“But may the Lord forgive your servant for this one thing: When my master enters the temple of Rimmon to bow down and he is leaning on my arm and I have to bow there also—when I bow down in the temple of Rimmon, may the Lord forgive your servant for this.” (2 Kings 5:18)

The prophet’s answer is not “Oh ye of little faith” or “Obey God rather than men.” His answer is only: “Go in peace.”

The Bible doesn’t speak of Naaman’s life after that. We don’t know what would have happened had he vowed to defy his master and refused to bow to Rimmon. Perhaps the God of Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego, and Daniel would have saved him from wrath and vindicated him dramatically in the eyes of his people. Perhaps he would have died a martyr and gone quietly to the bosom of Abraham. It’s hard to imagine God not blessing such sacrificial faith, but we see here that God’s blessing was not dependent on it. Naaman looked forward and saw the seeds of his own failure, and through his prophet Elisha, God was willing to say, “Go in peace.” Not because there was no better way, but because God’s mercy in this time was the gift to go on.

Oftentimes, this grace is the only thing that lets me keep going as an entrenched consumer. I admire the extremists–the protesters, the activists, the Amish, people willing to make the sacrifices and go off the grid if that’s what it takes to be righteous–but I don’t think I could ever become one. Without the grace of Naaman, my only choices would be to write off the issues because I couldn’t attack them properly, or to undermine the character of those who chose to do the good that I could not.

It can be a strange, frustrating life. It’s reading about conflict minerals on an iPhone made from the same rocks people are killing over. It’s buying discount produce from a big box store so I can eat healthy and still provide other things for my family, even when that same store doesn’t pay its people enough to buy what I do. It’s applauding my friends who have the guts to feed the homeless, or build churches in Colombia, or even to boycott companies they believe are in the wrong, even when I can’t join them myself. In my better days I still pray to be a Daniel–a dramatic visionary with the holy wisdom and willpower to do what is right, no matter what the opposition. But, until God finally makes me whole, and restores my brokenness along with the rest of the world, I can at least be a Naaman.

Illustration courtesy of Seth T. Hahne. Check out his graphic novel and comic review site, Good Ok Bad.

[button link=”http://christandpopculture.com/capc-mag-volume-2-issue-15-shopping-mauls/” size=”medium”]Read more about shopping in CAPC Mag Volume 2, Issue 15: Shopping Mauls[/button]