Did you hear that?
It was the collective sigh of those who bear their souls to empty rooms.
This week I did everything I wasn’t supposed to do and everything I wanted. Sometimes they were the same thing.
On Friday, I spent the day in a space designed and curated to invoke imagination. The plan for action called for disruption not-so-cleverly disguised as profit. Some bragged about organizing “cockfights” and others advocated for righteous indignation. The ferocity of their arguments were fueled by unconscious privilege and unchecked assumptions about who would benefit from that specific vision of change.
A call to home confirmed this truth: struggle and hope are symbiotic. Like fog on a window produced from warm bodies and breath, redemption is a process.
Selling products with an added “bonus” of social change is nothing more than money in the bank for the companies peddling their trinkets. It simply creates a false warm fuzzy that the pennies reserved for change will in fact change something. It solves nothing. It changes nothing. Manufacturing a desire for social change is nothing new. It’s comparable to the oil soaked ducks being saved by Dawn dish soap.
Some argue that any money gathered is worth the risk of bloating the megacorps profit margins. It’s trickle up philanthropy.
Can we access a database that shows where and how the money is spent? Is there a place to check in once in a while and assess that, in fact, our purchase has saved a life? Maybe that’s the next level of marketing?