Ethical Consumption

Despite the problems I described in Consumers in Capitalism,

wages are the focus for all pro-market localist schemes. If consumers buy locally-sourced goods from ethical sellers, it is claimed, they’ll shrink the economy to a more rational sustainable level.

It’s true that the West consumes too much; people buy what they don’t need or too much of what they do need. Businesses spend vast amounts of money to convince people that their lives are incomplete without the latest gadget. People who reject this oftentimes get drawn into their own form of elitism, paying huge sums for the coffee and gadgets that define their counter-cultural cachet.

Localists frame this by aggregating individual consumption choices. It’s assumed that we’ve all chosen, on our own, to consume too much, and this individualism marks localist thinking. Individual choices, it’s said, put together, will change the system. Making numerous small choices will add up to changing big ones. Consumers can change not only their spending habits but entire industries. Michael Shuman names ten different areas shoppers could buy locally, imagining a consumer-led panacea of local business, finance and technology to bring the community together “to envision a better economic future for all of its members.”

But capitalism does a lot more than offer different products for people to buy. The market coordinates production globally, which makes it very hard to reproduce in miniature. For example, localists acknowledge that the quality of local food isn’t consistent. It’s hard to get and often costs more, both because of economies of scale and because its production and distribution aren’t subsidized. Consumers are supposed to compensate for this by paying more.

The problem is that the capitalist economy is too complex for individuals to change at a micro level. But rather than democratically plan the economy, allowing social need and not profit to dictate what gets made and how, consumers are supposed to refuse to “give in” and cope individually with market anarchy.

If ethical consumption relies on consumer preferences, then consumers can equally choose not to participate. In a system where consumers are workers with nothing to sell except their labor power, it’s rational to buy goods as cheaply as possible. And this is what happens when capitalism goes into crisis.

Still, ethical consumption remains popular: after all, it’s a way to feel you’re changing the world by spending a little extra. But the question is whether it’s actually changing the production and distribution circuits of capital. At what point will the number of ethical consumers peak, when those with no disposable income can’t participate? And, since it can’t change the global drive to reduce costs below the average global price, what distinguishes ethical consumption from charity, a way to salve the consciences of the well-to-do, leaving the structures creating inequality intact and growing?

The assumption behind consumer activism is that we’re limited to shopping to express our discontent. This is effectively saying the neoclassical economists are correct: the economy runs on consumer preferences, not exploitation. This shifts blame onto individual consumers for the failings of the system: if there’s alienation and environmental misery, it’s your fault for buying the wrong things. Yet consumers are also workers who must sell their labor power or lose their livelihoods. They buy what makes their wages stretch further.

In fact, the vast majority of people in the world need to consume more; capitalism isn’t meeting their needs. Billions of people live on less than $2 a day. In this context, calling for people to consume less misses the point. Real ethical consumption is collective. Capitalism makes it impossible for most people to meet their needs on their own, but as a society, we could provide houses, hospitals and schools for everyone. Obviously, this implies a vast change in the structure of ownership and consumption, but it’s a far more positive vision than localism’s individualism.


Greg Sharzer, No Local: Why Small-Scale Alternatives Won’t Change The World (Winchester, UK: Zero Books, 2012), 33-38.


Nostalgia must be guarded against — it’s debilitating. People become nostalgic when they feel they’ve lost control of their lives. When they see no way forward, they look backward. Nostalgia is fear of the future, a symptom of resignation.

It’s sad to think that there are people who long for the degradation that existed in the “East Village” in the 1970s/80s. These are primarily (exclusively?) people who moved in when the neighborhood had been all but abandoned. Today, those left pine for the time when few people would venture into the area. They don’t take into consideration that regular, working people left due to the degree of decay that they cherish so much. “Slumming” is not something people born into slums find attractive.

When I was growing up, it was the beginning of the period of crisis that led to the current neo-liberal era. Nostalgia then was for the 1950s: American Graffiti was the rage. I remember my high-school English teacher asking our class why we were so enamored of the 50s. The 50s weren’t so great, he said. It was the time of McCarthy. Of course, it wasn’t our nostalgia; we were just high-school kids. It was the nostalgia of his generation. But it was the time of crisis, and to take people’s minds off of it, an idealized vision of the past was offered up as a distraction. Today, oddly enough, that idealized vision is of the crisis period itself! I guess it shows that the time is less important than the superimposing of childhood memories onto that time.

I had the idea to write this recently while walking with my son, approaching Whole Foods on Houston Street. It occurred to me that this will be his recollection of Houston and Second Avenue, while others go to their graves lamenting the demise of the Mars Bar. Your starting point is where you are today, and your goal is the future, not the idealized past.