Our Wallets Carry Our Values

Our values, those things that define us, materialize and extend through our acts. But that is not always the case when we engage in commerce. When we buy something, we create demand for that thing. Instead of making it ourselves, we pay someone else (usually someones) to make it for us. The problem is not in the exchange (for example, dollars for a shirt), it is in the psychology of a transaction. Transactions, at face value, don’t carry value beyond material – it is the exchange of one commodity for another. Our values are not carried along the line of exchange. And it shows en masse. Many of us feel that when we buy something, the burden of moral responsibility suddenly falls on the seller to do what we deem “right”. And if they don’t, if their manner of sourcing our shirt involves employing teenage girls forced to do manual labour at 25 cents an hour, well then it’s on them, not us. By transacting with someone, we outsource our moral obligations. We separate ourselves from social responsibility, and rarely accept it if things go awry.

We are all aware that slavery is still a thing, that suffering and exploitation are the essential processes in sourcing and making cheap products. Cheap for us, expensive for many other parties. Intuitively, we know that a shirt cannot cost $10 if it’s made of cotton, shipped from half a world away, and makes profit for multiple suppliers along its chain of production. And yet, the price tag says $10. So what’s the trade-off? When we think about what something is worth in dollar terms, we often subconsciously price in our personal values. Profit-first companies, on the other hand, don’t think or have the same values as us. Their guiding principle is the profit margin. By shedding other perceived costs, which include many of what we would call moral considerations, they stamp an MSRP of $10. The product may look and work like something we wanted, but it’s devoid of our values. Its utility is there, but our connection to the product is lost. The mounting number of products in the disposable or “fast x” category is a testament to that.

The cheapness of these anonymously sourced or morally washed products hides a personal cost too high to bury. When we talk out in public, or think to ourselves, we all balk at the idea or proposition of human exploitation, animal torture, and environmental destruction. And yet, we almost assuredly support – worse, fund – these same practices through our acts of commerce. Buying without thinking (beyond our personal needs) is the ignorance that breeds inequality in our current, profit-first flavour of capitalism.

Ultimately, voting (or protesting) with our wallet on which corporate practices and which companies deserve our capital (economic power), is an actionable form of expressing our values, and of social justice – especially when we do it collectively. Whom or what do we want to empower? Capital accumulation shapes our capitalist world, and the form our society takes. It defines what is normal.

Yes, the corporate world and its supply chains are a labyrinth, and many companies resort to green and social washing in their marketing practices. It’s a manifestation of greed. But commerce, like everything else, is not binary, and a cleaner choice is better than making no choice at all. You wouldn’t want a stranger representing you, a manufacturer is no different. Look them up on the Internet – there are many websites that publish social responsibility reports on most larger companies. Or talk directly to the manufacturer and intuit their responses to your questions. Do their values align with yours? If so, the product will be an embodiment and extension of your beliefs.

Also, think about why and what you are buying. Is it something you truly need, or could it be a craving born out of insecurity or a mere distraction for a dull or unhappy life? Can you get a previously used version of the product? Yes, doing all this takes effort, but it is energy purposefully spent, for it actionably communicates your values (who you are) to the world. It is a form of self-respect, and a rejection of commercial herding that greed often precipitates on us. Choose what makes you, not what tempts you.

Pathos of Ownership

To own is to suffer. To own is to grasp and crave, endlessly, unceasingly. Ownership is attachment, a practice that is widespread, and oftentimes, pathologically encouraged. To obsessively accumulate until we are bogged down, physically and mentally, in the futile pursuit of security and validation. The idea of ownership is a human construct, though perhaps a more accurate word is man-made, considering modern civilization was built on an unbalanced, testosterone-directed patriarchy. On the most basic level, ownership is a form of aggression, a fruitless conquest of an insecure ego over material.

The compulsion of ownership is self-perpetuating, since you cannot truly own anything, not permanently anyways. If you cannot own a moment, an essential unit of time and space, you cannot own anything material borne out of it either. Like all moments, material things pass. Intuitively, we know this, but instead of continuing to move forward, taking as much as we need, we obsess over our future security. We start hoarding things, en masse. We start measuring and comparing each other on how much we’ve accumulated, and take pride in owning more – or shame in owning less.

Ultimately, the mechanism of ownership reaches a point where its internal relationship inverses. Our imagined security becomes so dependant on the idea of accumulation that the things we think we own now own us. They consume us and run our thoughts, actions, and ultimately, lives.

You don’t need to own something to benefit from it. Enduring societies and ecosystems are built on networks of sharing, not hoarding. Your own body exists, and thrives, because trillions of its cells are reciprocating. And when they are not, you get sick.