I have held a boycott against Wal-Mart for about eight years now. The reasons are varied, but grew consistently over the years. I know that I, myself, cannot bring the conglomerate down to its knees solely on the basis of my measly $300 per month grocery bill averted from them and cashed in at another large conglomerate, albeit a less evil one. My boycott started in college, as a Business Administration major, early in my matriculation. My beliefs in fair labor laws and a penchant for anything feminist led me to shun the entire company for their spending more on antiunion tactics than on employee health insurance when 80% of their lower level employees are women and the sole providers for their families, not to mention the store’s hesitance to promote women into the ranks of management. Also, Wal-Mart is just such an ugly, ugly eye sore with their vast buildings that are reminiscent of a warehouse stocked with a bunch of useless, plastic crap made in China that no one really needs.
However, after being a mother for four years and living in a recession for two, I have started to rethink this boycott. Had it not been for the fact that Wal-Mart donated a substantial amount of money to a women’s group that I belong to, I probably would have had a harder time accepting the inevitable: it is cheaper to shop at Wal-Mart. And at least once a week my son starts a conversation that goes something along the lines as this:
“Do you wike War-Mart, mumma?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like the way they treat their workers.”
“But you can save more amb weve better! And they have Toy Story toys, too. I wike War-Mart. Nana takes me there.”
It’s hard to argue with a four year old. They have no sense of priority yet, no real, concrete common sense and they exhibit fickle tastes. Their world revolves around themselves and the few people they have a real connection with. Those people (along with television, of course) are the foundation in which the child will form his or her ideals, beliefs, and brand preference. The reverse is true as well: Parents have an overwhelming sense of obligation to give their children what they themselves never had, whether it is a good education or a MacDonald’s Happy Meal and we will turn 180° to make them happy, healthy and well rounded, literally throwing our dollars away with each purchase that promise such sentiments, true or not.
After nearly a year of nagging from my tot, I braced myself for a brand transition on a Saturday afternoon. I pulled into the busy parking lot, filled with vehicles moving slowly in the two acre lot—we had a birthday party to attend and needed a toy fast and cheap. I assisted my toddler out of my modest, low-emission sport SUV surrounded by mini-vans, soccer moms, the elderly and others that looked to be transients. I took a deep breath and marched up to the ugly face of iconic American business tactics and stepped inside the steel structure, ominous with beams and lights looming overhead, casting shadows in its wake. A man with a gut twice the size of my once pregnant tummy pushed his way ahead of us, donning flip-flops, a wife beater t-shirt and a scowl that made John Wayne Gacy’s mug shot a little less scary. And then I was lost—but only for a moment because I had a well-informed child at my side.
“This way, mumma. I show you,” reassured my son.
“I’m glad you know where you’re going because I have no clue,” I replied.
My son took my hand and proceeded to the toy aisle after weaving in and out of clothes racks, end stacks and sales displays. I was wide-eyed at how much crap they could cram into such small places and amazed that they had installed sensor lighting in their refrigerated/frozen aisles. We had $15 to spend and chose a “My First Laptop.” From there we preceded to the check out isles. They seemed like tiny, crowded islands, so far and out of reach. During the 20 minute wait for our turn to throw money away on the evil conglomerate, I had the chance to take a look around. There is one nice thing I have to say about Wal-Mart—they certainly do not discriminate against any one customer. Kids were running around in pure bliss, hyped up on sugar and awaiting their plastic prize. Large, small, fat, skinny, black, white, young, old—they were all there shuffling in single file lines keeping capitalism alive.
Overall, the experience wasn’t as bad as I had imagined it. I still think that Wal-Mart has rubbed out the little guys and holds women back from any progress that they may have gained had they been employed somewhere else. I certainly won’t be doing my weekly grocery and household shopping there, but I might run in quickly to find a fast and cheap birthday gift sometime in the near future if I’m out in the boonies where it’s the only option to shop for goods. And just maybe, I’ll take my son there on a field trip after a super awesome week at school, all the while explaining how I feel about the importance of fair labor practices. I mean, after all, I do want him to be happy and well-rounded.
© 2011 Kara O'Ferrell
May not be reproduced without prior permission.
However, after being a mother for four years and living in a recession for two, I have started to rethink this boycott. Had it not been for the fact that Wal-Mart donated a substantial amount of money to a women’s group that I belong to, I probably would have had a harder time accepting the inevitable: it is cheaper to shop at Wal-Mart. And at least once a week my son starts a conversation that goes something along the lines as this:
“Do you wike War-Mart, mumma?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like the way they treat their workers.”
“But you can save more amb weve better! And they have Toy Story toys, too. I wike War-Mart. Nana takes me there.”
It’s hard to argue with a four year old. They have no sense of priority yet, no real, concrete common sense and they exhibit fickle tastes. Their world revolves around themselves and the few people they have a real connection with. Those people (along with television, of course) are the foundation in which the child will form his or her ideals, beliefs, and brand preference. The reverse is true as well: Parents have an overwhelming sense of obligation to give their children what they themselves never had, whether it is a good education or a MacDonald’s Happy Meal and we will turn 180° to make them happy, healthy and well rounded, literally throwing our dollars away with each purchase that promise such sentiments, true or not.
After nearly a year of nagging from my tot, I braced myself for a brand transition on a Saturday afternoon. I pulled into the busy parking lot, filled with vehicles moving slowly in the two acre lot—we had a birthday party to attend and needed a toy fast and cheap. I assisted my toddler out of my modest, low-emission sport SUV surrounded by mini-vans, soccer moms, the elderly and others that looked to be transients. I took a deep breath and marched up to the ugly face of iconic American business tactics and stepped inside the steel structure, ominous with beams and lights looming overhead, casting shadows in its wake. A man with a gut twice the size of my once pregnant tummy pushed his way ahead of us, donning flip-flops, a wife beater t-shirt and a scowl that made John Wayne Gacy’s mug shot a little less scary. And then I was lost—but only for a moment because I had a well-informed child at my side.
“This way, mumma. I show you,” reassured my son.
“I’m glad you know where you’re going because I have no clue,” I replied.
My son took my hand and proceeded to the toy aisle after weaving in and out of clothes racks, end stacks and sales displays. I was wide-eyed at how much crap they could cram into such small places and amazed that they had installed sensor lighting in their refrigerated/frozen aisles. We had $15 to spend and chose a “My First Laptop.” From there we preceded to the check out isles. They seemed like tiny, crowded islands, so far and out of reach. During the 20 minute wait for our turn to throw money away on the evil conglomerate, I had the chance to take a look around. There is one nice thing I have to say about Wal-Mart—they certainly do not discriminate against any one customer. Kids were running around in pure bliss, hyped up on sugar and awaiting their plastic prize. Large, small, fat, skinny, black, white, young, old—they were all there shuffling in single file lines keeping capitalism alive.
© 2011 Kara O'Ferrell
May not be reproduced without prior permission.
