Consumerism is Bad and I Can’t Get Away
In terms of financial security, I have lived a life of privilege. For this, I am grateful, and yet, I’m angry. I’m grateful that I have never wondered where my next meal would come from or whether my shoes would fall apart before the end of the school year. I’m angry because the world around me does not seem to care about those for whom the previous statements are not true. I am constantly being torn between the strong sense that my manner of consumption is directly linked with being a disciple of Jesus, and the contradictory convenience of letting the capitalist tide sweep me into Kmart.
I cannot extricate my identity from my life-long participation in a consumerist, capitalist society. Graham Ward observes that “capitalism enjoins participation,” meaning that even though I may sometimes make postmaterialist choices such as ensuring the products I buy are second hand, ethically sourced and/or environmentally conscious, the nature of living in New Zealand “situates me very firmly in the global economy.”
I have had many small turning points in turning away from a consumption-driven lifestyle, however, much of the difficulty of this journey has been the overarching normalisation and ease of practices such as buying fast fashion, replacing belongings rather than mending or upcycling them, and measuring success by the ownership of material things. While I try to lighten my carbon footprint on this earth, I still own a petrol-guzzling car so that I can easily get to uni, and work in order to pay for my room in a flat whose neighbours seem to not know or care about Auckland’s recycling guidelines. And then there’s the weird social media stigma about wearing an outfit too many times. Only after actually thinking about this did I realise how stupid this idea was. Why would I not wear this item of clothing again and again? It’s mine, I like it, and I own a washing machine.
The contradiction between my yearning for justice and my often mindless engagement with consumerism jarrs me. Technically, there is nothing stopping me from wearing the same clothes every day (I think of 22 year old Nelson Mandela, who wore the same threadbare suit to his law firm job for 5 years). Perhaps a reason for not having done this is that my upbringing and surroundings have imprinted in me the assumption that a certain quality of life is my birthright. I have the audacity to feel self-righteous when I choose the organic hazelnuts and locally made socks, when the “normal” option that consumerism offers is often directly linked to exploitation and abuse of labourers, hidden by corporate greed and societal ignorance.
I think that if Jesus walked into Sylvia Park today, he would be flipping more than a few tables. Granted, these tables may not be situated in the middle of our churches, as were the tables in the cleansing of the Temple narratives (e.g. Matt 21:12-17). But, as James K. A. Smith chillingly observes, the local mall can easily be understood as a religious site and centre of worship and idolatry. One enters the high-ceilinged, sanitised sanctuary and joins the throngs of pilgrims, some newcomers, some regulars, each with a sense of hopeful expectation. Time seems to stand still as the ritual of seeking the perfect holy object commences, the spiritual experience culminating at the altar known as the checkout. Zygmunt Bauman notes that civility reigns supreme in these kinds of empty spaces, claiming to welcome diversity but really just diluting it. There is no denying that the worship of wealth and possessions will continue to influence and surround the church of Aotearoa. By educating ourselves on the enticing methodology of consumerism, perhaps we can actively identify and reject its power as we return to true worship.
All of scripture—old and new—points to the fact that caring for the vulnerable is fundamental for God’s people. Compassion is a key characteristic of the God of Israel, a characteristic which is meant to define God’s set-apart community and way of life. I am convinced that the Church cannot be faithfully pursuing God’s will if it is not actively questioning, resisting, and rejecting the consumerist world that it is situated within. As a Christian, my identity and purpose is inextricably linked with what Jesus states as being the most important commandments: loving God, and loving others.
But still, I find myself in a society in which consumerism is constantly selling us false gods and corrupted stories of who we are and ought to be. There is no room for caring for the children next door who cannot afford a raincoat, nor the women, men, and children working in dangerous sweatshops overseas, when our very identities are, as Mindy Makant writes, “derived from personal consumption.”
Watching the documentary “The True Cost,” further opened my eyes to the grim reality behind our retail therapy. One of the interviewees is Shima, a factory worker in Bangladesh. Along with thousands of others in the same industry, Shima is paid very little in unregulated conditions, with no worker’s rights or protection. There are many lives taken and casualties caused by the dismal working conditions of these workers—the invisible providers of many well known Western clothing brands. The collapse of the Rana Plaza alone, which housed five garment factories, claimed over a thousand lives. Shima comments, through tears, “I believe these clothes are made from our blood.” The fashion industry is not the only culprit. Whether it’s toys, electronics or make-up, if it’s cheap, you’ve got to ask at whose cost that is.
Us human beings often long for more—a sign of our creaturely makeup: as St Augustine wrote, we often misdirect our “desire for God toward mere things”; or again, C. S. Lewis who recognised our dissatisfaction as something which derives from our being “made for another world.” Knowing this helps me manage my frustrations at my own complicity in consumerism. Instead of trying to quash the feeling that I am missing something, this feeling can be acknowledged and redirected towards seeking the God who reconciles all things.
“Instead of trying to quash the feeling that I am missing something, this feeling can be acknowledged and redirected towards seeking the God who reconciles all things.”
Addressing these matters is undeniably a justice issue. How can we claim to be loving our neighbours if our misdirected desires are actively perpetuating the abuse of our brothers and sisters like Shima? What if carrying our cross looks like resisting the pull of mass-produced items and realising that what we see as “normal” consumption has been warped and distorted? To be perfectly honest, I don’t know how organisations and individuals that don’t have the hope of the Gospel have the stomach to continue on with the uphill battle of ethical consumption. I fall easily into despair when I look at the apathy that both surrounds me and is within me; holding onto the promise that Christ has overcome the world enables me to continue to seek transformation and justice, no matter how small and meaningless the impact of my life may seem.
It is going to take an entire upheaval of the way New Zealanders live their lives to reach any kind of justice—the kind of righteousness and justice the very throne of God is set upon. I am not convinced that New Zealanders care enough to make this happen; but I’m unwilling to simply give up. Jesus’ message of reconciliation for all is the only thing that enables me to continue learning, continue fighting, continue trying.
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Rebecca Hooper is currently an editor at Metanoia.