A woman I work with is of Sri Lankan heritage. I committed a bit of a faux pas this morning when I offered her some of the tea I was drinking. It's from Sri Lanka. I was curtly advised that Sri Lankan products are being boycotted. "Even fair trade tea?", I asked. Yes, even that. Chastised, I returned to my workstation.
Boycotts are the civil society version of an economic sanction. Like embargoes, used by governments against other governments, boycotts are used by groups of people who seek to use economic power to achieve a political aim, usually in protest against a government. It could be argued that the boycott is a non-violent form of protest and is therefore a pretty good option. I'm not so sure.
Embargoes and other economic sanctions put in place by governments are without doubt more powerful than any boycott, but does that mean that boycotts do not cause any harm? There may be no direct physical violence, but what about other forms of violence?
Take Sri Lankan fair trade tea sold in Australian supermarkets as an example. Sri Lankan farmers and farm workers are taking part in a scheme that ensures them fair prices for their products. Do-gooders in Australia - like me - can buy these products and make a small contribution to sustainable and equitable livelihoods in the developing world.
So what happens if a boycott or embargo is put in place in protest against the government of Sri Lanka? Assuming there is a sufficiently high level of support for the protest, supermarkets won't be able to sell fair trade Sri Lankan tea anymore. Until a new market is found, the company that buys the tea from Sri Lankan farmers will buy less, and farmers will scale back their production.
Following this logic, the outcome will be a negative impact on farmers, workers, and their families. In poor rural areas of a developing nation, it's likely that the community will also feel the effects. Maybe the company will be impacted, too, possibly causing it to reduce its level of investment in Sri Lanka.
And the up side? Will this (relatively minor) change in the market for tea have the desired impact on the policies of the government of Sri Lanka? I'd say not. Unless there are suddenly millions of angry unemployed farm workers descending on the government, it's unlikely that there will be any real impact at all.
So what do I say to my Sri Lankan co-worker? How do I explain that her boycott, if it has any impact at all, is only going to hurt the poor? What alternatives do I put forward? I don't know. To be honest, I understand the arguments in favour of the boycott and I don't believe firmly enough in my own position to challenge them.
There are strong feelings attached to the decision to boycott Sri Lankan products. The decision to pursue a form of protest that is, at one level at least, non-violent is admirable. However the need to make a political statement, to do something about a situation of perceived injustice, may mean that we overlook the need to think carefully and objectively about the likely consequences of that action.
In the scheme of things, my co-worker's decision - and my own - will probably make little difference at all. Perhaps we're even counteracting each other.
What this little encounter highlights, though, is the tension between the desire to act in accordance with our beliefs and the necessity of rigorously assessing the possible outcomes of our actions. In a globalised world this isn't just a question for governments to deal with, but one that is present in the decisions we as individuals make in our daily lives.
