The modern era has ushered in a wave of consciousness around sustainability, ethical consumption, and environmental responsibility. Many of us, proud of our bamboo cotton shirts and reusable straws, feel we’re doing our part for the planet. But in this rush to be ‘eco-friendly,’ we’ve fallen into a dangerous trap: judging those who don’t, or perhaps can’t, make the same choices. The privilege of choice is often invisible to those who have it, but it’s vital that we recognise it for what it is—a privilege, not a universal standard.

In South Africa, like many other nations, the economic landscape is deeply fractured. The widening gap between the rich and the poor affects every aspect of life, especially when it comes to consumption. The fact that you can afford to prioritise sustainability and purchase ethically sourced goods reflects more than just your good intentions—it reflects your financial freedom. For many in South Africa, that choice simply doesn’t exist. When we condemn the consumer, we fail to acknowledge the economic realities that shape their decisions.

Take Shein or Temu, for example, fast-fashion giants that are often demonised for their environmental impact. In comment sections, we shout about how bad these corporations are for the planet, and while much of that criticism is valid, it’s misplaced when directed at consumers. The working and middle class, who are often labelled as careless when buying from these brands, are simply making the best choices available to them within their financial means. The idea that people can always afford to opt for eco-friendly, sustainable clothing is naïve, to say the least.

And it’s not just clothing—this conversation stretches to food as well. We’ve all seen the criticism aimed at people who feed their families fast food, with accusations of laziness and irresponsibility thrown about. What’s missing from this judgmental narrative is a basic understanding of economics. For many families, fast food isn’t a luxury or a guilty pleasure—it’s often the cheapest, most accessible option. Not everyone has the funds to shop at organic grocery stores or cook fresh meals from scratch every night. The fact that you have the time and money to care about food provenance is, once again, a privilege.

It’s easy to get lost in the noise of ethical consumerism, but in doing so, we often fail to examine our own privilege. The fact that your straw is paper, your shirt is made from bamboo cotton, or your meal is organic means that you have access to choices that the majority of the country does not. Those choices are not a moral high ground—they’re options afforded by financial stability. When we spend our time policing others, we risk alienating those who already feel excluded from the sustainability conversation, turning environmental responsibility into a luxury reserved for the few, not a movement for the many.

One vivid example stands out from my own experience. In class, a peer criticised another student for not using a reusable water bottle, lamenting that it wasn’t environmentally friendly. What they didn’t know was that the other student came from a working-class family and couldn’t afford the reusable bottle in question. This interaction reflects a wider issue: when we focus on individual actions without considering the broader context, we not only fail to support those around us but also deter them from even trying to engage with the changes we so desperately need.

The reality is that we need more people practising sustainability imperfectly than one person doing it perfectly. It’s more effective for everyone to make small, manageable changes than for a select few to live in zero-waste bubbles. When we police others, we prevent meaningful progress. Worse still, we create an environment of shame that discourages people from even attempting change, lest they be judged for not doing it ‘correctly.’ In focusing on individual choices, we obscure the real issue: the systems and corporations that drive the environmental destruction we’re so eager to stop.

Corporations with million-rand profits continue to drive the exploitation of our planet’s resources, yet we direct our outrage at the consumers, the individuals just trying to get by. We condemn the working-class mum for buying fast fashion but fail to shine the spotlight on the massive corporations reaping the benefits of unsustainable practices. The real challenge isn’t individual consumerism—it’s the large-scale systems that exploit both people and the planet for profit.

By condemning individuals for their consumption choices, we allow the real culprits—the corporations, governments, and policymakers—to escape the scrutiny they deserve. Instead of policing people, we should focus on changing the systems that perpetuate unsustainable practices, ensuring that ethical, sustainable options are accessible to all, not just the financially privileged.

At the end of the day, people deserve to feel good about their choices, even if those choices aren’t always aligned with the ideal of ethical consumption. It’s easy to judge when you’ve never had to make the difficult decision between feeding your family or buying a more expensive, eco-friendly product. We spend so much time condemning others that we forget how much financial freedom shapes these decisions.

The privilege of choice is something to be grateful for, not something to wield as a moral weapon. We need to create an environment where sustainability is inclusive, where imperfect efforts are celebrated, and where the focus is on collective action rather than individual perfection. The real enemy is not the person buying a plastic bottle or fast fashion, but the system that makes it difficult to do anything else. We must remember that for many, the choice is not about convenience or carelessness—it’s about survival.

Let’s stop shouting in comment sections and start demanding more from the systems that truly hold the power to change our world.