You're Invited to the Economic Blackout

Get ready for Friday (Feb. 28), but ALSO...

Low-buy and no-buy movements are having a bit of a moment, if you will. Maybe you’re growing tired of opening social media apps to the endless noise of influencers selling you junk. Maybe you’re pinching pennies over eggs, or venting to your friends about clothes that tear in two wears and appliances that break after a year. Maybe it’s realizing that corporate profits have hit (several) record highs over the past few years, while Americans are gearing up for another round of inflation.

Maybe it’s realizing that workers are the ones losing out, whether it’s corporate layoffs after a record CEO bonus, or DoorDash pocketing tips. Maybe it’s realizing that we are the ones who suffer when companies sell products laced with forever chemicals or destroy millions of dollars in unsold merchandise.

But people— or, at least, some people— have finally had enough. This Friday, February 28th, is having a bit of a viral moment for an Economic Blackout. The idea is simple: For 24 hours, abstain from purchasing anything from a big-box retailer, in person or online. No Amazon, no Target, no Walmart, no fast food chains. If you need to make a purchase, do so from a small business.

The goal is straightforward: To demonstrate to corporations that consumers have the power to effect change, to demand a system where our communities aren’t entirely reliant on a handful of billionaire corporations.

To be sure, there are some skeptics. I’m sure there are a handful of CEOs laughing (if they’ve even noticed) because they’ve spent the last decades creating a system where we identify as consumers first and as citizens second.

But luckily, history gives us a playbook for effecting change through boycotts. In fact, consumer boycotts are written into the very fabric of our national story-telling: The Boston Tea Party, the “Free Produce Movement” to purchase goods made without slave labor, the Montgomery Bus Boycotts to resist segregation, consumer boycotts against Dow Chemical Company for its production of Agent Orange for the Vietnam War.

Particularly in America, what you purchase— or don’t— has always been tantamount to a political or social statement. It’s worth noting, too, that traditionally that statement is much larger than an individual political party. Consumer boycotts happen— and work— when something about our very way of life is being threatened.

I’m thinking now about the movement to abstain from drinking tea in the wake of the 1773 Tea Act, when the British Parliament gave the British East India Company a monopoly on the sale of tea to the Americas. For American colonists, tea was not just a quick morning jolt of caffeine, it was woven into the very fabric of social life.

When tea was first imported to the colonies in the 1600s, it was such a novelty that at least one person recounted chewing the tea leaves themselves, unsure what he was supposed to do with the new import. But by the mid-1700s, wealthy American colonists were eager to demonstrate that they were as refined as the best English socialites. As such, a proper gentlewoman would have an elaborate tea service and be instructed from a young age in the art of offering and accepting tea among guests. This social ritual— complete with overturning a teacup to politely decline a refill— was a status symbol more than anything, so it was no small feat to spearhead a boycott that could threaten its adherents’ social status.

In Boston, a women’s petition to abstain from the use of tea immediately garnered hundreds of signees, noting, “We the Subscribers do strictly engage that we will totally abstain from the Use of [tea], (Sickness excepted) not only in our respective Families; but that we will absolutely refuse it, if it should be offered to us upon any Occasion whatsoever” (T.H. Breen, The Marketplace of Revolution, 287).

What stands out to me about colonial boycotts of tea, and every consumer boycott since, is the importance of visibility. You may have noted here that the women didn’t say we will not purchase our own tea, but we will drink it elsewhere to be polite. They said that they would abstain from tea everywhere, even in situations where it might be socially imprudent. What mattered wasn’t just quietly performing the action, it was announcing the action until it was socially acceptable, even expected.

The tides turn when a change becomes socially acceptable— so let’s make it happen.

Large corporations have shown us— over and over and over— that they will engage with social and environmental issues only when it threatens their bottom line. Amazon doesn’t care if the bookshop down the street closes (in fact, Amazon intentionally uses books as a loss leader to do exactly that). Coca-Cola doesn’t care that plastic is now found in every corner of the Earth, and even in our brains. Walmart doesn’t care that its targeted campaigns to shut down mom-and-pop shops means that “poverty increases by about 8 percent in places where a Walmart opens,” and the average household actually loses thousands in income.

You know who is invested in your local community? The Indie bookstore with a monthly book club and a kid’s story hour. The coffee shop that donates to disaster relief and lets local artists sell home-made jewelry right out front. The farm where Jen in the front office texts me to ask if it would be easier if she dropped off the meat we ordered.

I live 1,200 miles from where I grew up, but you wouldn’t know it because I still drive past strip malls every day with endless signage— Wal-Mart, Burger King, Kentucky Fried Chicken— that make Pittsburgh look just like Dallas. This isn’t comforting; it’s heartbreaking. It’s not a partisan issue to hope that our local communities retain some semblance of local character. Opting out of billionaire corporations is a way to invest in the uniqueness and resilience of the place you call home.

Erin Boyle

of

Tea Notes

wrote a fantastic piece recently that discussed how people who try to live according to their principles are sometimes accused of being “insufferable,” noting,

“Did my refusal to join friends at Starbucks or patronize Walmart make me an insufferable teenager? Maybe. But my friends and I didn’t suffer from choosing to order our over-sweet lattes from the mom and pop shop with an affinity for slightly burnt coffee instead of the multinational corporation with an affinity for union busting.”

By these standards, I’ve been a fairly ‘insufferable’ human for quite a number of years now, and the ‘worst’ thing that has happened in all these years as a result of my insufferable nature was my brother-in-law shoving a handful of plastic straws in my bag as a practical joke. But you know what else has happened? Friends have texted me for sustainability recommendations and advice for no-buy months. Loved ones have switched to less toxic cookware and mattresses without flame retardants. And just this week, I reached 1,000 subscribers right here on Sustain Initiative, helping to build a community that cares about people and the planet.

Putting your principles on display invites others to ask questions, to learn more, to use you for support in making shifts of their own. That is the true power of the Economic Blackout Day.

If this is your first foray into a no-buy day, welcome!

Honestly, there’s not a whole lot you need to do in preparation for a single no-buy day— just spend a couple of minutes now, while you’re thinking about it, anticipating anything that might come up for you on Friday. Any weekend birthday parties you’ll need a gift for? What’s your plan for morning coffee— any local coffee shops you’ve been meaning to try? And don’t forget that you’ll still need to eat— if you’re not sure you’ll feel like cooking after a long week, go ahead and plan your crock pot meal now.

Beyond the logistics, think about how you want to spend your time. A no-buy day is great, but you may not feel so great if you still spend the day scrolling. Hit up the library for a book, make plans to walk with a friend, or commit to cleaning out your closets with your newfound free time.

I’m no stranger to low-buy and no-buy challenges— in fact, it’s one of my favorite ways to hit the ‘reset’ button when I’m feeling overwhelmed (here’s my account of a 3-month no-buy last year). And I can tell you this: The first few days of the challenge are the hardest. Your fingers are twitchy, and you’re mentally counting (and re-counting) birthdays and socks-without-holes until you’re sure you have enough to make it through the no-buy period. That’s okay, even normal. A few years ago, I supported a friend in her own no-buy challenge, and I laughed out loud when she texted me that she was “furiously buying all the things before midnight” when her no-buy month would officially start. While that’s not the point of the challenge (like, at all) it’s also a very human response to your first no-buy experiment. In a hyper-consumerist economy, it takes a while to convince your brain that you have enough already.

So if Friday feels a little bit uncomfortable for you, that’s okay. Sit in the discomfort, and maybe even extend your no-buy for a few more weeks until it feels normal.

And there-in lies my hesitation with the planned economic blackout day: One day is not enough.

It’s of course not enough to create real corporate change. To be fair, John Schwarz, the protest organizer, isn’t suggesting that a single day is all the matters; there are plans for week-long targeted boycotts in the coming weeks. But more relevant from a personal perspective, one day is not enough to effect any meaningful change in your shopping habits.

Make a plan for consumer change that goes beyond a day

I’ll be participating in the Economic Blackout Day, and I’m sure many of you will too. But what I want to see more than a singular day of resistance is a coherent plan to shift our consumer dollars away from the billionaire bros.

I’m not suggesting that you will never again spend a single dollar with a billionaire. Jeff Bezos, for example, owns not just Amazon but Whole Foods, the Washington Post, the shoe retailer Zappos, the streaming site Twitch, and Ring doorbells, among others. As they say (whoever ‘they’ are), it’s difficult to throw a rock without hitting a billionaire-bro corporation. But your dollars matter far more to your local community, and to companies who make literally any effort to be kind to their workers and the planet.

So go ahead and open your Amazon account, if you have one, and look at your recent purchases. Make a plan to shift those dollars, where you can, elsewhere:

• Bathroom and cleaning basics from Grove, Ethique, Who Gives a Crap, and small businesses (especially those that are EWG Verified to have non-toxic ingredients)

• Groceries from Thrive Market, Imperfect Foods, or a local food co-op

• Audiobooks and e-books from library borrowing sites like Libby or Hoopla

• Home goods, clothes, and toys directly from small businesses, or from secondhand sources

And don’t forget, of course, that the most sustainable purchase you can make is none at all.

So on the 28th, make your resistance visible (but kind). I won’t be making purchases because I believe that we are designed to be citizens, not consumers, and I’m over corporations that have invested billions in marketing to convince us otherwise. I hope you’ll consider joining me.