Is ‘be the change’ the ultimate gaslighting?

“Mummy? Are you sad?” 

I could barely hear my daughter’s earnest voice over the rage in my heart. I was kneeling on the kitchen floor, my head on the timber, my hands over my ears. Sobbing silently.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Mummy is just a bit tired."

I was aware of my husband trying to usher her away. But, I'd read somewhere that it's good for kids to see their parents vulnerable sometimes. I didn't want to give her the impression that it's shameful to cry.

“Rupture and repair,” I whispered to the kitchen floor, where I was still seeking refuge. “She needs to see me rupture and repair.”

I stood up. Wiped my eyes, reached for my three-year-old. 

“I’m just tired, sweetie.”

I met my husband’s eyes. He’s exhausted, too. Our 8-month-old baby is in his arms, looking around the room with wide-eyed curiosity.

Seeing me, her mummy, once again standing tall, our three-year-old is sufficiently reassured. Considering she collapses on the floor a few times an hour, perhaps this is normal in her world. She returns to her dinner, unfazed.

I’d been putting away the supermarket shopping when it happened.

I was unpacking tins of lentils and cherry tomatoes when I felt the panic rising. Throwing myself to the floor was instinctual. I was diving from danger. Except the danger was in my head.

It’s easy to identify a panic attack in hindsight. But at the time, everything around me felt crushing and disorienting. Colours were too bright, sounds too loud, sensations too vivid. My thoughts grew sharp teeth and tore at my heart. What I really wanted to do was scream, but I didn’t want to scare my kids. So I silently flung myself to the floor. A partial release.

Cashews. I was thinking about cashews when the panic attack hit.

The day before, I’d learned about ‘blood cashews’. Harvesting cashew nuts often relies on “forced labour and the exploitation of children”. The de-shelling of cashews must be done by hand, but the de-shelling process release a caustic liquid, which burns. I was thinking about a child’s charred hands when I flung myself to the ground.

While I stock my pantry, others burn.

Even as I write these words, I shy away from them. Don’t be so dramatic. My thoughts leap to protect me, to try to rationalise the terror. It’s probably a conspiracy theory. It’s not your problem. Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems.

But of course it’s as bad as it seems. Of course it’s completely unjust and deeply problematic. Of course I should care about blood cashews. But blood cashews are one thing on a long list of things I must care about.

I want to feed my family without causing harm to someone else’s family, and some days, that feels impossible.

Usually, I avoid supermarkets because they trigger my anxiety. Every time I walk into a supermarket, I feel a strong sense of responsibility. This is my opportunity to ‘shop with my conscience’.

In today’s world, a dollar is more than a dollar—it’s also activism. Your supermarket trolley says a lot about what you believe in, what you stand for. But if you try to tick every ethical box, you might just blow your monthly food budget in one hit. And end up on the kitchen floor, sobbing silently in front of your family. 

Shopping ethically is a privilege.

I’m sure many people will be quick to tell me it can be done on a budget, and that it can even be really enjoyable. I don’t doubt it.

But, having the time to research ethical products is still a privilege. Let alone the time to visit various ethical sellers. We also have to buck powerful marketing tactics, and the ability to do this is yet another privilege.

On the day of my kitchen meltdown, I was on a mission to stock up on plant-based products. I’d listened to another podcast that made a compelling case for veganism. Right, I thought, if I go vegan, I’ll feel better about the state of the world. It will help to ease my climate anxiety.

Because that’s what we’re told, right? That action is essential. That if we want to save the world, we need to ‘be the change we want to see’.

Almost every book I’ve read on climate change has ended with this: be the change.

Every bit counts. Join the movement. Do what you can.

This call-to-action has always unsettled me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Not until I fell to the kitchen floor. When it dawned on me, finally, what an extraordinary responsibility we’re being asked to carry.

We, the consumers, are being asked to play judge and jury. We’re facing impossible decisions at the supermarket. It's not our fault there are blood cashews on the shelves. We did not put them there. But we’re made to feel like it is our fault, that corporations are “just meeting demand”, that if only we were a touch less selfish, the world would be a better place.

Those who truly hold the power to change the system are gaslighting us. They want us to believe it's our responsibility to save the world. 

We, the consumer, expend enormous amounts of energy trying to decide what’s truly ethical. We wade through shady marketing messages and greenwashing. We get into debates with our neighbours about the 'right' way to shop. And while confusion rages in our hearts, people profit from our despair.

What if we used all this energy to call out the companies actually doing the damage? Instead of casting shade on people who still buy caged eggs?

I’m so tired of being told to ‘be the change’.

Be the change implies that moral superiority or peace of mind is something we can buy. That if we buy the fair-trade bananas, we'll sleep better. And the rest will sort itself out. It also implies we must 'walk the talk' before we protest injustice. It risks alienating people who agree with a cause, but can't "vote with their dollar".

Here’s the thing: you can be opposed to something, and still buy it.

You can be opposed to dairy farming, and still buy milk.

You can be opposed to factory farming, and still buy factory-farmed meat.

You can be opposed to fast fashion, and still shop at H&M.

This doesn’t make you a bad person, or a hypocrite, or someone who lacks moral judgement. It just makes you a human being with limited resources, a family to clothe, and mouths to feed.

We have to demand change before we can be the change.

When I buy products that don’t align with my values, I feel immensely guilty. I feel as though I have ‘failed’. That I’m not doing enough in the fight against climate change, that I’m a hypocrite, that I’m lazy or that I lack willpower.

I actually start to brainstorm how I might earn more money so I can be a ‘better human’. I think things like, I’ll become a better activist when I’m wealthier. When my kids are older. When I feel stronger. When I’ve done more personal development. I begin to feel as though I’m not worthy of campaigning for change right now. I then use all my energy looking for ways to feel better about myself, instead of signing a petition.

I’ve been gaslighted into believing I’m not good enough, or ‘pure enough’ to demand a better world.

Not everyone can be the change. But we all have the right to fight for change, no matter how ethical we are perceived to be.

‘Be the change’ glosses over systemic corruption and inequality. Individualistic activism can also cause us to disconnect from each other. We retreat into our egos and obsess about our identities in this strange and shifting world.

You're not a failure if you eat cashews. The decision makers that allow children to burn while de-shelling cashews are to blame. THEY must change.

Some powers want us to be on the kitchen floor, paralysed by indecision, too tired to call out corruption.

I say, no more. My family, and all the other families in the world, deserve better.