How I found fair trade…

They say Christmas is the time for reminiscing.  Each year, while decorating our Christmas tree, I'm reminded of a dinner party that I attended in January of 2005.  It was a potluck/going away party for a yoga teacher friend of mine who was moving from our small trendy part of Cincinnati to an even smaller part of rural New York state called Ithica.  We sat around on hard wood floors in a sparsely furnished apartment.  Yoginis never ask for chairs or ice cubes for their water as it imbalances your vata (the ice, not the chairs).  Which is good because the ice cubes would have been especially deranging for our collective vata, given the fact that we were sitting on drafty floors on a cold winter night.  (Any Ayurveda aspirants in the house?)  Being a group of young women in our childbearing prime, there was a narrow age range of offspring floating around, from embryo to toddler.  We considered ourselves like minded in ways that are important like, sharing basic ethical viewpoints and wanting to make the world a better place for our children. 

Composing the scene was a candle lit table of very healthy food options (because no matter what yogis eat at home, they almost always bring vegan food to parties), various tapestry wall hangings,  a small sofa with rattan footstools and a coffee table supporting only fanlike spread of magazines... wait those aren't magazines... they're catalogs:  Seeds Of Change, Nova Natural Toys, Living Arts, an array of eco-conscious options for the Peaceful-Warrior-Yogini-Goddess in all of us.  Looking back now, I see the seeds of thought-change that were planted in me that night. 

The conversation was largely child-centered, although we did all join hands and chant some sort of blessing for the hostess' relocation and new chapter in life at some point.  This was also the night that an innocent looking girl, eight months pregnant, caught my attention and within moments of our meeting was given a full discourse on cloth diapering options.  Little did I know then that her unborn baby girl would turn out to be the best friend since birth and apple of my then 2 month old son's tiny eye! 

While I'm sure I did most of the talking when I wasn't thumbing through the catalogs I was sure would enrich my newly domesticated life, one phrase I overheard that night became stamped on my brain "...and that's why it's never okay to buy anything made in China." 

What?  Why?  I didn't ask.  I should already know all this... and if I ask then for sure my lady friends would frown upon my unknowledgeable consuming habits.  Something to do with children... is everything made in China made by children?  I wasn't sure, but I trusted that my source had done her research and so I stated when I returned home to my mate "I'm never buying anything made in China ever again."  Besides, after looking at wholesome, upscale, enviro-logues all night I had other ideas about the things I wanted to buy.

 The very next day, my husband and I went to Baby'sRus to fulfill one of the many percieved needs of our tiny new dependant.  As it happened, a seasonal Christmas store was in its final days of business and had a sign posted in the window boasting "90% OFF EVERYTHING!" 

"I'll hold the baby, you've got 10 minutes" my gracious mate agreed after sensing my excitement.  I darted in the store and flitted about like a sugarplum fairy drunk on hot-chocolate.  Before long my arms were full and my time was up.  My husband appeared and payed the saleswoman "twenty dollars, please."  What a score!  I'd just purchased a plethora of fancy trimmings for our entire tree with only 20 bucks! There were die-cut mourning doves, beaded satin wrapped bulbs, pose-able circus animals in festive clothes, baby blue angels with harps, an ascension of sparkly stars, etc...

I was stepping peppy with after-Christmas cheer when my husband spoke up  "Are you sure none of those decorations you just bought were made in China?"

 I stopped suddenly, precariously poised atop the sticky remains of my burst bubble.  Should I take them back?  What did he think of me?  What did I think of myself?  Could I really enjoy my cheaply made treasures now that I'd compromised my values?  I wanted to cry.  (Probably new mom hormones at work.) 

When we got home, I stuffed them in the already packed sterilite bins and tried to forget my shame. 

Then next year, when my one year-old's face lit up with wonder at the overflowing box of colorful glittery objects which we carefully hung on the bottom third of the tree, I had all but forgotten the self-induced loathing which plagued a brief moment of my Christmas past.

In the past few years my seedlings of thought change have grown along with the public demand for fairly traded goods.  Online stores selling whole world handicrafts are growing in number.  While paying a fair price to a skilled artisan rules out the option of decorating your entire tree on twenty bucks, it's a much more transparent transaction.