- Branded! How the 'Certification Revolution' is Transforming Global Corporations
- New Society Publishers (2008)
Wouldn't it be, like, awesome if we could shop our way to a better world, where production is green and workers are fairly treated, by just buying stuff from good companies and shunning the bad ones?
This seductive thought was running through my head last month in a Main Street, Vancouver, furniture warehouse as I stroked the spectacular grain of a $1,200, 12-foot solid teak patio table.
I gingerly opened the manufacturer's tag and learned that the wood originated in "teak plantations managed by the Indonesian government and worked by local people in a way that ensures sustainability of this renewable resource." Sounds good!
That's not all: "Forest productivity is improved and living standards for local people are improved." Well, where do I sign?
Wait a minute! Wait a minute! I'm no chump. I've just read Branded! How the 'Certification Revolution' is Transforming Global Corporations, by Michael Conroy. I know not all sustainably produced products are what they claim to be.
Indonesian tweak
A quick Google check confirms that Indonesian teak plantations are indeed run by state corporations. Trouble is, those plantations are on land cleared by slash-burning, the corporations are controlled by cronies of the ruling elite (with improved living standards) and the entire Indonesian teak industry lost its Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) certification back in 2001.
So our old glass patio table stays where it is, the entire aborted consumerist impulse a perfect example of what Conroy believes is a "revolutionary new form of global governance with power that transcends national boundaries."
For had I been assured of the table's ethical origins -- perhaps through the certification logo of some legitimate third-party monitoring agency -- I might now be dining off teak.
Conroy spins an engaging tale of the emergence of this potent new international movement, with deep B.C. roots, that combines grassroots global campaigning with voluntary certification systems to monitor and assess corporate behaviour.
Carrot, stick and brand
A specialist in the economics of sustainable development at the University of Texas, Conroy has been an insider in the certification field for many years, working closely with those responsible for certification programs targeting Wal-Mart, forest practices and international tourism, among others.
By threatening the brand reputation of major multinationals, says Conroy, the certification revolution "gives civil society, worldwide, new power to demand and to reward corporate practices that raise the bar on environmental protection and social responsibility."
An early example was the successful 1998 effort by B.C. groups like Greenpeace, the Sierra Club and others to force MacMillan Bloedel to adhere to FSC standards for harvesting old growth.
A year later, the Rainforest Action Network brought Home Depot to heel. In 2004, ForestEthics used sharp advertising techniques to wean Victoria's Secret from using virgin wood fibre in the 395 million catalogues it ships each year. We now all know enough to stop buying blood diamonds and some of us may be aware that Dell no longer uses prison labour to disassemble its recycled computers. (Dell's subcontractor refused to allow independent inspection of the facilities, where workers were manually smashing leaded glass cathode ray tubes.)
Running after Nike
But Conroy's illuminating book, which is far more substantive than its gee-whiz title implies, is quite clear about the necessary ingredients for successful campaigns: creative, committed campaigners; a long-term approach; a willingness to negotiate standards that will allow an industry to function profitably and sustainably; and, most crucially, a campaign target with a reputation or brand worth protecting.
Let's face it, Indonesia doesn't have such a great reputation -- not a lot of bargaining leverage there. Nor are teak consumers inclined to be choosy. As long as there are cut-rate furniture warehouses, there is likely to be a market for uncertified teak.
It is a different story, however, with Nike. The global running shoe giant saw its stock mauled in 1995 by reports of appalling conditions in its Southeast Asian factories, where workers were exposed to carcinogens, forced overtime and wages that reduced labour costs to only 12 cents in the retail value of an $80 pair of shoes.
By 2001, Nike had built up a corporate responsibility and compliance department that numbered 85. Its labour and environmental standards exceeded those established by an industry association. During a recent strike at the massive Vietnamese factory controlled by one of its main subcontractors, Nike underlined its commitment to freedom of association for striking union workers and urged negotiations. (Wages were raised.)
Yet audits of Nike's suppliers show many are struggling to achieve the standards. If they fail, and contracts are removed, the plight of their employees becomes even worse. Just the cost of responding to repeated audits by certification bureaucrats is a burden for some firms.
A hard road for labour
While environmental certification has proved difficult, establishing decent, agreed labour standards has proved nearly impossible. Even Fair Trade programs, which emphasize fair payment to primary producers, have generated daunting auditing and verification costs for the non-profits that seek to keep the system working.
It would be wrong, however, to concentrate on the problems.
Vancouver's own 2010 Winter Games Organizing Committee, which pledged to entrench sustainability in all its activities, is a product of the movement, proof that the ground rules have changed for global organizations with a reputation to protect.
Can certification systems reduce global poverty? Conroy is courageous enough to pose the question and honest enough to say he doesn't know. The answer will come from those driving the campaigns, those industries responding to them and the communities they are ostensibly designed to help.
Too often, however, the campaigns are directed by specialists in developed countries, where consumers are numerous and rich enough to make an impact. Don't look for that kind of buying power in Africa.
The bottom line
Certification campaigns cannot change the world. Ultimately, Conroy concedes, the accepted standards must be converted to government regulations, applied globally if possible.
The great merit of successful certification programs, however, is the way they open doors of hope.
We now know that we can manage forests sustainably, that diamonds need not fund civil wars and that it's possible to make profitable running shoes while respecting the dignity of the workers. In difficult times, these are not small achievements.
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