SPICES. A cute acronym for powerful concepts: simplicity, peace, integrity, community, equality, stewardship.
I attended a Quaker high school, and to instill in us the indispensable Quaker values, we wrote SPICES on white boards and invoked it in class discussions. These ideals governed my educational experience, supposedly. Never mind that when I was in ninth grade, the school undertook a million-dollar renovation project, or that there was a sharp economic and social divide between students on scholarship and students whose families had private planes. These values, so intensely lauded, were not upheld, and it was the school’s degradation of stewardship that bothered me the most.
Each year, we were required to complete a certain number of service hours. Ideally, students would want to devote a significant amount of their time to something like bettering the planet or caring for abused animals. In reality, students might spend 30 minutes making a poster about the climate crisis and record that they had spent three hours at a protest — and I do not blame them for doing this. We were tired high school students who were told that service had a finite conclusion: record 25 hours, and you could graduate; record 25 hours, and you had contributed to relieving the suffering in the world. The complexity and nuance of service was hidden behind the ease with which we could report having done five hours of it.
But then the school hosted an assembly with Kate Sekules, an assistant fashion history professor at Pratt Institute. She challenged us to think about the repercussions of advocacy campaigns. The assembly centered around fast fashion and the dangerous conditions of sweatshops around the world. My neighbors squirmed in their seats when Sekules talked about how H&M is a primary contributor to carbon emissions. People looked away when pictures of sweatshop workers were projected. I had predicted that this was how the assembly would go, and when the speaker mentioned boycotting, I wasn’t surprised. Here was an action that we could take. After being told that we should boycott stores like American Eagle and Urban Outfitters, we could all comfortably leave the assembly behind. Yes, it had been painful to look at pictures of child laborers, but if we stopped buying from Forever 21, it would be okay. We would have done our part.
This is not what Sekules said. Upon referencing boycotting, she explained that if we all stopped shopping at stores that contribute to fast fashion, workers would negatively be impacted. In reality, many of these workers need these jobs. Other viable sources of income are scarce, and the fast fashion industry provides money for families. But, at the same time, the speaker encouraged us to shop at thrift stores and wear hand-me-downs from siblings and friends. The assembly ended, and there was an unusual lack of resolution: There was no course of concrete action proposed. Instead, the discomfort inherent to the complexity of the issue prevailed. Fast fashion was so deeply intertwined with political and social circumstances that Sekules could not propose boycotting. Instead, she had encouraged us to consider why boycotting might be dangerous.
I didn’t know how to move forward after this assembly, and I think that is why I am still thinking about it six years later. I’ve yet to figure out the right course of action — fast fashion still exists, and sweatshop workers still face deplorable conditions. Six years have passed and no finite amount of service could have come close to resolving such an infinitely complex issue.
***
In 1880, Charles Stewart Parnell encouraged Irish tenants to protest high rents and evictions. When tenants actually succeeded in ousting British estate manager Charles Cunningham Boycott, the term “boycott” was popularized. Today, official boycotts are generally conducted by labor unions to protest unfair wages and conditions; but, more colloquially, any individual action against a corporation is considered a boycott. So while boycotts might be indicative of planned collective political action, they also include smaller scale individual action.
In the United States, I think we tend to view boycotting as inherently worthwhile and beneficial — a view that probably stems from the country’s history of large-scale boycotts. When the term “boycott” comes up, many Americans likely think of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and ’60s. Boycotts were consistently used as a tool to protest stores and businesses that discriminated against Black Americans, and the Montgomery Bus Boycott is a primary example of the power of collective action. The bus boycott cost Montgomery City Lines between $3,000 and $4,000 each day the boycott continued.
In many middle and high school classrooms, we are taught that these boycotts played a part in securing fundamental rights for Black Americans. While this narrative is not completely false — the 1950s and ’60s were a period when rights were increased and desegregation was slowly implemented — it means these boycotts cannot be considered with greater complexity. While one might easily assume that the financial losses Montgomery suffered would be enough for the city to desegregate buses, it was not until after the Supreme Court ruled Alabama’s bus segregation laws unconstitutional that desegregation actually took place.
I was not taught about the Supreme Court’s decision in school. I learned first about the bus boycotts and then the eventual desegregation of the buses. I thought that by assuming the boycotts led to desegregation, I was connecting the dots. I think, in retrospect, we want it to be the case that these boycotts worked on their own — that the collective voice and action of thousands would be enough to enact change. It is difficult and unpleasant to accept that only when mandated by the highest authority in the United States — a governing body of nine white men at the time — was the city willing to desegregate the buses. I am not trying to devalue the importance of the bus boycotts. These protests helped Martin Luther King Jr. become the established leader of the Civil Rights Movement and encouraged the use of nonviolent civil disobedience. But, it is concerning that the narrative in the United States has become that boycotts can only be viewed as an overwhelmingly positive, successful and inspiring tool of change.
I find this so dangerous a sentiment because it allows people to view boycotts as an end-all-be-all sort of action. Yet, as I began to see in that first assembly in high school, there is inherent danger in viewing boycotts this way. To overwhelmingly praise the boycott is to somewhat ignore the underlying political and social factors that have made a potential boycott necessary. By embracing the narrative that boycotts can only ever result in success negates the possibility that other action might be preferable.
This is why the difference between the collective and individual boycott seems especially crucial. We cannot just assume that an individual boycott results in success. If I choose to boycott Forever 21 and H&M, I might think that I am benefitting workers halfway around the world. But in reality, when an individual undertakes this action without a request from labor unions, things become more complicated. This is why the speaker at my high school’s assembly suggested individual boycotting might be more harmful than we realize.
The clothing industry represents an especially challenging example of the difference between individual and collective boycotting because it is relatively easy for an individual to stop shopping at a store that endorses fast fashion policies. However, Public Policy senior Ruth Lynch, co-founder of the University of Michigan’s chapter of United Students Against Sweatshops, emphasized the importance of individuals adhering to labor unions’ calls for action.
“Garment workers themselves don’t really ask for boycotts,” Lynch said. “They say do not boycott unless the union specifically asks for it.”
The University’s USAS chapter is relatively new on campus and was spearheaded by Lynch and co-founder LSA junior Mark Tallents in the past year. Lynch and Tallents sought to revitalize the group on campus after a lapse in its presence, and they dedicate weekly meetings to planning larger-scale action like teach-ins and drafting communication intended for both faculty and the student body. Lynch and Tallents have met with garment-worker unions in Cambodia and they both champion the idea that boycotts are not an action we should immediately resort to.
“Without a specific direction or an implementation of a structured and intentional boycott, it’s very easy for the boycott to become self-serving and lose its direction,” Tallents said.
If Sekules, Tallents and Lynch have all affirmed the notion that boycotting clothing stores is not necessarily the right action to take, one might easily console themselves by appealing to the idea that it is not harmful to shop at these stores. Yet, both Tallents and Lynch stressed that they do not buy new clothes and prefer to thrift. Here is where the inherent tension in trying to reform the garment industry seems to lie: The reality is that it feels untenable to buy from these stores once one is aware of the unfair conditions they impose on their workers. However, as Tallents said, “If no one bought new clothes, those livelihoods are gone. It’s not about destroying the job, it’s about reforming the job and reconstructing it in a way that has dignity and is sustainable.”
Clearly, boycotting is not a simple solution for securing better conditions for garment workers. But, Lynch proposes a way in which we might change how we think about boycotts — one that challenges the notion that they are always overwhelmingly beneficial. Lynch suggests that we often think of boycotting as doing something for garment industry workers. In reality, we should think of these boycotts as partaking in action alongside workers.
People might often say something like, “I am boycotting H&M right now.” The emphasis of this statement is on the “I,” and the importance of the individual is inherent. Perhaps we need to rephrase the way we talk about boycotts so that we say something like, “I am boycotting H&M with their labor unions right now.” This might seem ridiculous and feel like I am making far too big of a deal about language. However, this is a direct action that we can take. Boycotting is complex, that much is clear. But it seems like something we can truly accomplish is altering the way in which we understand it.
By recognizing that it is not an action we are taking for others, it is easier to dispel the notion that boycotts are inherently successful. Instead, we are collectively working towards an outcome where boycotting is not the only action necessary to reach the ultimate end goal.
This notion of collective action is vitally important because it also calls out the self-gain somewhat inherent to boycotting. When I have spoken to people in recent years about what they are boycotting — whether it be H&M or Forever 21 — many people express that they are happy to not be spending so much money on new clothes and accessories. I’ve been taken aback by this sentiment; it feels like their boycotts are driven by what they stand to gain, as opposed to a genuine concern for human rights.
Even if people are not driven to start boycotting because of potential self-gain, it may become the reason they continue with a boycott. Tallents spoke to this phenomenon.
“Having consciousness about consumption is the first step, not only for a deeper understanding of your personal role in a larger global economic supply chain,” Tallents said.
This sentiment contributes to understanding that one’s role can make it easier to mobilize collectively and make boycotts work better.
Lynch partially disagreed, saying that a person’s cause for boycotting is less important than the boycott itself.
“I don’t think it matters as much for the broader movement why people are (boycotting),” Lynch said. “I think it is okay if there is some personal gain to it, because I also just think people should buy less stuff.”
Lynch’s and Tallents’ views complement each other. While it is true that boycotts diminish overconsumption and place pressure on companies, a disproportionately large interest in what one stands to individually gain from a boycott diminishes the long term effects of an advocacy campaign. If people continue to care about the issues they are advocating for with boycotting, it becomes likely that other forms of action might also be embraced.
When worker unions stop calling for boycotts, which inevitably happens, individuals might continue to boycott because of the positive externalities they enjoy — like spending less money. However, while this might seem harmless, continuing with a boycott because of individual gains disrespects the importance of collective action that Lynch emphasizes. Boycotting is no longer collective because we are no longer working alongside garment workers. However, if people continue to care about the issue regardless of any potential self-gain, then, when workers ask for a halt in boycotting, people might be more willing to invest themselves in other forms of action — like directly petitioning leaders of companies.
I do not think there is a right answer about how to boycott, and it is far too simplistic to argue that boycotting is a wholly good action or a wholly bad one. However, it’s important to recognize its limitations and acknowledge that there is value in choosing to boycott because one deeply cares about the issue at hand. By acknowledging the complexity of boycotting, we accept that no finite amount of service will resolve the issue, but we also acknowledge that that is okay because continued collective action will make progress.
***
My school also hosted Days of Service, in which groups of students, excused from class, would move from crowded classroom to crowded classroom, listening to speakers tell us about everything that was wrong with the world. On these days, it felt as if we were like the boy in Lois Lowry’s “The Giver,” condemned to learn about all the pain and suffering in the world that the rest of his community remains blissfully unaware of. In those classrooms, we were removed from the bliss that comes with attending a wealthy, New York City private school. We were confronted with the upsetting realizations that life was profoundly difficult for many people.
But we were also so unlike that little boy in “The Giver.” After these days, I would stumble out into the bright light of a spring day and walk home. The next day we would return to mundane classroom discussions, not speaking about the events of the day before.
We moved on. The boy in “The Giver” does not move on. It is impossible for him to, after all. His sole responsibility is to quite literally remember all of the pain and suffering in the world by himself. I would often wonder how it could be the case that hundreds of students could not bear to mutually shoulder what that boy in “The Giver” does alone.
But of course, there is a difference because we do not live in a novel where the terribleness of the world is captured in a finite amount of pages. We must live with the idea that, in our lifetimes, we will not see the issues we advocate for solved. But by truly trying to understand the forms of action we can take, like boycotting, and by committing ourselves to recognizing that it is a difficult task, we become a little more like the boy in “The Giver.” We acknowledge the struggle inherent in accepting and not ignoring the reality of the world. We choose to not move on.
Statement Correspondent Olivia Kane can be reached at ohkane@umich.edu.