Globalization has produced more than mere connectivity. The “shrinking of the globe” draws the impoverished and marginalized astonishing close to the privileged.
As a result, disparity and oppression is becoming more obvious. Western society appears to be gravitating toward the not-so-new ideas of altruism and justice. Regular, everyday citizens want to “get involved.” Even youth seem more interested in starting 501c3’s than a neighborhood garage band.
It’s as though it’s officially cool to care.
Cool Compassion, as it were, didn’t simply become. The infusion of bright, young people into the non-profit scene has led to smart and savvy cause-marketing. That blend has developed an entirely new sort of activism, where individuals do good while consuming goods. Special product lines promise purchases that will meet a consumer demand and simultaneously defeat AIDs, shoe an orphans feet, or simply make a difference. It’s a brilliant and subtle strategy designed to draw people into global philanthropy.
In one sense, I find myself donning my proverbial rally cap. I can’t help but think more people becoming more “involved” is necessarily good, and has the potential to lead to a kind of worldwide relief efforts on behalf of “the least of these” described in Matthew 25.
Yet, I also find myself invariably wary of the synthesis of contemporary compassion and modern consumerism. Cool Compassion – in its current form – embodies both the best and worst of globalization, consumerism, and the incomplete status of contemporary altruism.
Consider, for example, the stylistic of Cool Compassion, or what some call "aWEARness." A combination of fashion and philanthropy, aWEARness attaches peer-pressure coolness with the trendiness of combating poverty and human trafficking. Sure, you knew world hunger existed, but it didn’t coincide with your ache to belong until Joe tied aWEARness to his feet, Sally wrote it on her wrist, or GAP immortalized it on a red hoodie.
As a result, the causes with the coolest stuff – and, consequently, the hippest following – are the ones in which generate the greatest interest. As a result, you may actually give more because someone gave you something for giving something.
Sound a little shallow? Take a closer look.
Certainly, there is cause for suspicion, but at some level we’re all consumers, and aid-based goods provide a unique alternative to products of more contemptible origin. What’s more, Cool Compassion exposes consumers to a range of issues with which they might have otherwise had little to no interaction. An aWEARness purchase turns your wardrobe, your house, and even the bumper of your car into regularly reminder of a particular cause. If that extended exposure does bring about action, it would make that $20 t-shirt worth every pretty penny.
Then again, it’s difficult to determine which draw is hijacking which. Has compassion enlisted the support of savvy marketing, or have providers corned demand by manipulating consumer’s good intentions into a purchasing trend? And if Cool Compassion is a mere trend, then what distinguishes it from the other well-intentioned inconsistencies of our privileged society? After all, we prudently choose Diet Coke – with a Quarter Pounder and large fries. We chug gas-sucking SUVs to environmental awareness events. We’ll even arrive at the gym thrice a week – and subsequently take the elevator to the second floor exercise bikes. Our noble intentions are often misguided and inconsistent, addressing the symptoms rather than the source of trouble.
Ultimately, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with wanting to belong, purchasing apparel, or nifty designs. There’s just much more to true Christian benevolence than a mere monetary transaction. Indeed, Christian charity is a lifestyle characterized by sacrifice in inevitable response to the Gospel of Grace. “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,” the Apostle Paul states in his first letter to the Corinthians, “that though he was rich, for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.” Certainly, trendy aWEARness cannot stand in the shadow of Christ’s cross.
In the mean time, what if Cool Compassion challenged consumers to “earn” an aid-based product, rather than settle for and perpetuate the aWEARness status quo? What if we applied market principles of scarcity and required consumers to spend a week alongside freed prostitutes shaping jewelry before they kept some for themselves? Or turned a $15 t-shirt into 15 hours – or 15 days – of serving among the States’ urban poor? Can we create venues that that lead millions of people to own a cause rather than purchase its product?
Then, perhaps, Cool Compassion might begin to channel a deeper transformation of the consumer’s choice into a lifestyle of true charity.
In one sense, I find myself donning my proverbial rally cap. I can’t help but think more people becoming more “involved” is necessarily good, and has the potential to lead to a kind of worldwide relief efforts on behalf of “the least of these” described in Matthew 25.
Yet, I also find myself invariably wary of the synthesis of contemporary compassion and modern consumerism. Cool Compassion – in its current form – embodies both the best and worst of globalization, consumerism, and the incomplete status of contemporary altruism.
Consider, for example, the stylistic of Cool Compassion, or what some call "aWEARness." A combination of fashion and philanthropy, aWEARness attaches peer-pressure coolness with the trendiness of combating poverty and human trafficking. Sure, you knew world hunger existed, but it didn’t coincide with your ache to belong until Joe tied aWEARness to his feet, Sally wrote it on her wrist, or GAP immortalized it on a red hoodie.
As a result, the causes with the coolest stuff – and, consequently, the hippest following – are the ones in which generate the greatest interest. As a result, you may actually give more because someone gave you something for giving something.
Sound a little shallow? Take a closer look.
Certainly, there is cause for suspicion, but at some level we’re all consumers, and aid-based goods provide a unique alternative to products of more contemptible origin. What’s more, Cool Compassion exposes consumers to a range of issues with which they might have otherwise had little to no interaction. An aWEARness purchase turns your wardrobe, your house, and even the bumper of your car into regularly reminder of a particular cause. If that extended exposure does bring about action, it would make that $20 t-shirt worth every pretty penny.
Then again, it’s difficult to determine which draw is hijacking which. Has compassion enlisted the support of savvy marketing, or have providers corned demand by manipulating consumer’s good intentions into a purchasing trend? And if Cool Compassion is a mere trend, then what distinguishes it from the other well-intentioned inconsistencies of our privileged society? After all, we prudently choose Diet Coke – with a Quarter Pounder and large fries. We chug gas-sucking SUVs to environmental awareness events. We’ll even arrive at the gym thrice a week – and subsequently take the elevator to the second floor exercise bikes. Our noble intentions are often misguided and inconsistent, addressing the symptoms rather than the source of trouble.
Ultimately, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with wanting to belong, purchasing apparel, or nifty designs. There’s just much more to true Christian benevolence than a mere monetary transaction. Indeed, Christian charity is a lifestyle characterized by sacrifice in inevitable response to the Gospel of Grace. “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,” the Apostle Paul states in his first letter to the Corinthians, “that though he was rich, for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.” Certainly, trendy aWEARness cannot stand in the shadow of Christ’s cross.
In the mean time, what if Cool Compassion challenged consumers to “earn” an aid-based product, rather than settle for and perpetuate the aWEARness status quo? What if we applied market principles of scarcity and required consumers to spend a week alongside freed prostitutes shaping jewelry before they kept some for themselves? Or turned a $15 t-shirt into 15 hours – or 15 days – of serving among the States’ urban poor? Can we create venues that that lead millions of people to own a cause rather than purchase its product?
Then, perhaps, Cool Compassion might begin to channel a deeper transformation of the consumer’s choice into a lifestyle of true charity.
Good thoughts brother. I often wonder about the effects of being "educated" about so, so many horrors of our world. Is passion that is directed to so many things/so many causes really effective? I think we are all sometimes guilty of following an emotional fervor that flows from a desire to free the oppressed… and yet without having enough of a connection to the people themselves to develop true compassion and love for them.
ReplyDeleteI wonder if too much knowledge without directed action and intimate involvement can eventually give rise to more cynicism (how things should be done/how people are “going about it all wrong”) than true compassion...
~Leanne
Greats thoughts.
ReplyDeleteSo much of Christian charity is inextricably tied to one's motivation. If our motivations are murky, then our actions will never translate into a lifestyle, and our compassion never be distinct.