Were we to see the thick layers of consumerism peeled back, we’d turn our queasy gaze aside. We’d want to gag at the monstrous greed, lust, and abuse exposed. We’d stand aghast at the reality of our own makeup-coated participation. We couldn’t handle it. We wouldn’t watch it long enough to let the reality sink in. We’re numb from overexposure, so things like exploitation and poverty get washed out against the fine luster of advertising made to jolt us from compassion, truth, and community. If the desire to buy actually began to feel foreign, or conscience over the ramifications of this materialism nightmare broke icy surface for breath, they’d pop in the latest CD and lull us back to sleep with happy-happy-joy-joy celebration songs. Eventually we’d forget the sunken faces, the sorrowful eyes, the exploited suffering millions. They’d swirl away into nothingness as we’d sit back in our new car and gulp another burger, thinking about which restaurant we’ll go to this weekend after a long day of shopping. And that cute sweater on sale at Macy’s for $89 will be too soft, too lush, too perfect to utter nary a word about the life of its young seamstress Mukti, whose name ironically means ‘liberation’. It won’t make a peep about how lucky she feels to earn 20 cents an hour instead of 9, but that’s only because the man in charge of her sweatshop occasionally does more than ‘think’ she’s cute.
Sara Newbury
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