How to fight back against your own inevitable hypocrisy
Hypocrisy is a human condition. Everyone — no matter how kind, respectful or generous — occasionally engages in some form of it, either for his or her own benefit or because there are few, if any, alternatives.
I had two moments of facing my own hypocrisy last weekend as I stood in front of my beloved childhood Sears. Shuttered and ready to be redeveloped, the North Side store on Lawrence Avenue in Chicago was the first Sears, Roebuck & Co. retail location to be built from the ground up in 1925, according to Preservation Chicago’s website.
Even though, logically, I know that Sears was the behemoth, price-slashing “everything store” disrupter of its time, it’s still awful to see a cherished piece of your childhood disappear.
That pang, however, was nothing compared to the anger that welled up in me as I read the painful account of Austin Murphy in last month’s edition of The Atlantic: “I Used to Write for Sports Illustrated. Now I Deliver Packages for Amazon.”
It’s nice, I suppose, that Murphy is making the best of what sounds like an absolutely horrible job. But most people who take work delivering packages in a vehicle that has bald tires and broken headlights are not in the privileged position in their lives that the author is in — his wife makes plenty of money but he needs a little extra income to facilitate the refinancing of their home.
In this context, it’s less devastating to learn that Murphy was inconvenienced by long days behind the wheel on a grueling schedule than reading that his black co-worker has to dress in as much Amazon-branded clothing as possible to stay safe on the job.
Murphy writes: “A woman had challenged him as he emerged from her side yard — where he’d been dropping a package, as instructed. ‘What are you stealing?’ If you’re a black man and your job is to walk up to a stranger’s front door — or, if the customer has provided such instructions, to the side or the back of the property — then yes, rocking Amazon gear is a way to protect yourself, to proclaim, ‘I’m just a delivery guy!’”
Many employees have leveled complaints about working conditions in Amazon warehouses (accusations range from no time for bathroom breaks to practices that have led to physical injuries, and some have said there is suffocating heat in the summer and freezing temperatures in the winter). Amazon has categorically denied that it mistreats employees, and recently raised its minimum wage to $15 an hour.
So yes, I’m a hypocrite, because I’ve known of the accusations about unfair and unsafe working conditions, but I’ve not canceled my Prime membership, which I use a lot. I also am syndicated by The Washington Post, which is owned by Amazon chief executive Jeff Bezos.
But, even if the accusations were all true, my opting-out of buying Amazon products would hardly make a dent in the company’s bottom line. Boycotts rarely work, and people living outside of big cities often wouldn’t have access to certain goods without Amazon.
For millions of Americans, Amazon’s services and selection are more important than a few scattered news reports alleging mistreatment of its workers in the name of servicing our desire for fast shipping.
Like the rest of us, Amazon workers, especially its laborers, deserve humane work environments and conditions.
The behemoth isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so we need to start telling Amazon — via tweets, Facebook comments, letters or emails to their customerservice accounts — to treat their workers right.
Call, fax or email your elected representatives. Share allegations of mistreatment of Amazon workers with your network. Paying customers have more clout than mere onlookers, so the responsibility is on us — companies often don’t change until their adoring customer base demands it.