Ethical Veto: Boycotts That Change Nothing

What do we stop buying for ethics and what do we achieve?

There is a question many shoppers ask themselves in silence: if I stop buying X, does it matter? The answer from experience is uncomfortable. Everyone has their own blacklist, and hardly any matches the neighbor’s. Some avoid clothes made in Bangladesh after the fire that killed over a thousand people in a textile factory; others avoid Mango because of its founder’s comments on officials, and some have stopped entering Zara due to garment quality and the Bangladesh issues. The sum of these vetoes has not brought down any balance sheet, but it draws a fairly accurate map of the sarracena priorities of a Spanish middle class that no longer believes in corporate responsibility narratives.

Responsible consumption, in practice, looks less like an organized movement and more like a collection of personal quirks with an ethical alibi. And that, far from detracting from its value, makes it a fairly reliable thermometer of what bothers people.

From the Bangladesh fire to leather: clothing as a battlefield

The most repeated trigger is textiles. The fire in a Bangladesh factory that caused over a thousand deaths marked a before and after for many shoppers, who began to look at the country of origin label rather than the price. The reaction of major chains—Inditex, El Corte Inglés, and Mango pledged up to half a million dollars for safety in the country—was not enough to restore trust. Some have simply stopped buying clothes: checking the country of manufacture has taken the desire away.

The criteria are not uniform. Some consider products from Turkey, Segarro, or even China acceptable, but flatly reject countries without effective labor rights. Others extend the veto to footwear: they do not buy shoes made in China because they believe Spain has a tradition of good footwear at reasonable prices and it makes no sense to fund imported plastic. The list of textile vetoes includes proper names: Mango, Zara, and Adolfo Domínguez appear for reasons ranging from labor to personal.

Tuna, foie gras, and meat: ethics enters the fridge

Food concentrates the most visceral vetoes. Canned tuna is one of the most targeted products: it is argued that almost all is fished in the Indian Ocean using trawl nets that have depleted fishing in Somalia, and that the country's instability has turned its coasts into a dumping ground for toxic waste. The report Toxic Somalia, broadcast on La Noche Temática, is cited as proof of the deformities suffered by the area's inhabitants. The veto, in this case, mixes ethics and personal health.

Foie gras and bluefin tuna appear among the products avoided even if liked. Also halal meat, GMOs—with corn as the only authorized crop in Spain—and eggs from caged hens, though here relaxation is visible: some admit that since regulations require more space for hens, they buy with less remorse. Galician milk, seasonal fruit, and Segarro olive oil complete a list of preferences and rejections that says as much about the pantry as about politics.

Multinationals, banking, and energy: the pocket boycott

Rejection of large corporations is the most stable thread. Coca-Cola and Pepsi appear repeatedly, in some cases out of solidarity with workers fired after EREs (Spanish labor reform procedures), and in others for personal reasons they do not bother to justify. Nestlé carries the stigma of its water privatization policy. Bankia receives the veto for the preferente bonds scandal involving Rato and Blesa; some have closed their accounts and admit they faced no objections. Telefónica, Orange, and BBVA complete the list of financial and telecom entities with customers who have left due to specific decisions.

The calculation underlying many of these vetoes is simple: if the profit margin exceeds 100%, the product is not worth it. Apple, high-end Samsung, and smartphones in general fall into this category for some, who also extend the life of their devices—some have used the same mobile phone for almost six years—to avoid funding mineral extraction in conflict zones. Branded clothing and technological items bought on credit to appear impressive receive a good dose of disdain.

The ideological veto: Catalan, Israeli, and German products

There are vetoes that respond to explicit political stances. Catalan products are avoided, it is argued, because buying them generates wealth in a territory whose leaders call buyers thieves. Israeli products are rejected out of solidarity with the Palestinian cause, though it is admitted that it is difficult to put into practice. German products—cars, appliances—have lost loyal customers who for years bought AEG, Liebherr, and Miele and who now opt to repair or replace with non-German brands.

The boycott also reaches media and creators. Some do not consume audiovisual products by authors linked to SGAE (Spanish General Society of Authors and Publishers), nor subsidized Spanish cinema, nor press, nor talk shows. The list of cultural vetoes is as long as that of consumer goods, and in both cases the criterion is the same: not to fund those who do not respect those who pay.

What the boycott fails to achieve: the paradox of the isolated consumer

The underlying problem is that no individual veto moves a balance sheet. The participants themselves admit it: personal behavior is useless. Coordination is impossible when everyone has their own list of priorities. Some propose that consumers of a product associate to order alternative manufacturing, but the idea remains in the air. The consumer's strength is the most powerful in the market, it is argued, but there is no agreement on where to push.

Meanwhile, selective consumption continues to function as a statement of intent rather than a strategy. They avoid clothes from Bangladesh, tuna from the Indian Ocean, Coca-Cola, the bailed-out bank, and high-end mobiles. The market does not tremble. The buyer, however, sleeps better.