Every day it seems that our generation is becoming more aware of the ethical issues surrounding our purchases. We rightly feel that we should play our part in eliminating the injustices that arise as a result of the products and services we use. Unfortunately, not all of us are willing to pay the associated price.
Duke students have shown their commitment to these issues in the past year. Groups like the Coalition for a Conflict Free Duke have taken a stand against unethical practices surrounding the “conflict minerals” from the Congo that are found in many popular electronics. During the last few weeks of school, students rose against the possible closing of the Divinity School RefectoryRefectory in the Divinity School, an on-campus eatery that commits itself to many sustainable and ethical practices—using local, organic produce and paying workers a living wage—that other dining locations do not. I, too, have become fascinated by these kinds of ethical issues, specifically the ethics of textile production.
I realize, however, that despite my best intentions, I still end up supporting the very practices I’m trying to find a way to abolish—and I’m sure that most of us who want to keep the Refectory feel the same way.
I spend hours talking about the problems and merits of various types of fabric, especially cotton that severely harms both human communities and ecosystems through intense water use. But then I turn around and purchase 100 percent cotton clothing from places like Forever 21, a company that tries to present a wholesome ethical image but actually has had several issues regarding the ethics of its production. Many clothing companies can only offer such great prices because of their neglect for the environment and their workers, and yet I continue to buy from them. The realization that I may be inadvertently participating in a system that supports practices that I am trying to eliminate is extremely disheartening.
The truth is, when it comes down to shelling out the cash for ethically produced products, my bank account balks. Unfortunately, I have to balance my intense desire for ethically produced items with the sad fact that I don’t have infinite financial resources. And we face exactly the same problem with the Refectory.
We all love the Refectory. It’s cozy, friendly and the fact that it’s ethical just makes us feel good. Plus, it’s one of the only places on campus where you can get vegan, baked items, which benefits not only vegans, but also people with egg and dairy allergies. But why should the school subsidize one eatery by allowing its commission to remain lower than all the others? Don’t get me wrong—I love the Refectory just as much as everyone else. I eat lunch there almost every weekday. But, as with my cotton clothing, Duke has to examine its wallet. And that could mean making us examine our own. Ideally, all eateries on campus would source locally, focus on organic ingredients and pay a living wage. We should be fighting for that. But first, we need to ask ourselves if we are willing to pay more for food to support ethical practices?
Students at other universities have faced similar tradeoffs when clamoring for more organic and local foods. In 2009, at Wesleyan University in Connecticut, students were upset to find bugs in their salads. This occurred after pressuring Bon Appétit—the same food management company that runs Duke’s Marketplace and Great Hall—to source local, organic produce a few times a week. No one wants bugs in their food, but the reality of organic food includes them. If produce is grown without pesticides, there will be more bugs in the fields, which results in more bugs on the plate. Washing produce multiple times helps get rid of bugs, but since that takes more time, it ups the cost of the prepared dish. Wesleyan students were also annoyed by the increased food prices after their dining halls went more organic.
The students were not prepared for the consequences of their demands. They wanted more local and more organic, and they got it. But then the students were unhappy when these changes were reflected in the prices. Why is it that our generation wants these ethical and sustainable practices, and yet is unwilling to pay the price?
Perhaps it is because we secretly don’t actually care. More likely, we simply don’t think. We’ve spent our entire lives benefiting from these practices, searching for good deals and cheap prices. Even though we’ve now realized that those good deals are actually bad deals that contribute to unethical and ecologically detrimental situations, we continue to seek them out. After years of choosing items to buy based on their prices, we find it difficult to switch to evaluating our purchases based on how ethically they are produced. Nonetheless, it is a switch we have to make, especially if we want the Duke administration to recognize the importance of honoring our ethical convictions. We have to be prepared to foot the bill for the changes we desire.
Hannah Anderson-Baranger is a Trinity junior.
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