I have finally realized why the whole pink ribbon/pink marketing thing makes me so angry: I feel exploited.
When I first wrote about pink ribbons two years ago, I said, “Instead of pink ribbons, I'd rather have national health insurance or any health insurance plan that insures SICK people. The way things are now, if you are young and healthy, you can get health insurance at a reasonable cost. If you are old or, God forbid, sick, forget it.
"If you want to support people with cancer, forget the ribbon and lobby for national health care. Or for a state health insurance plan that is open to everyone, rich and poor, sick and well.”
I also did the math for a number of pink products, including pink M&Ms, and calculated how little actually went to breast cancer causes.
This month I’ve been blogging about a number of pink topics, including Breast Cancer Barbie, pink soup, and the Pink for October campaign.
In the responses I’ve gotten, I’ve realized that most (not all, but most) of the people who support the “pinking of October” are people whose lives have been affected by breast cancer because a relative or friend had the disease. But they do not have breast cancer themselves.
Most of the women I know who are living with breast cancer dislike the whole pink ribbon thing. Some are extremely distressed by the pink marketing effort and even by Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
My friend Jill Cohen writes in her blog,
“Do me a favor: if you want to support breast cancer research, advocacy, or related issues, DON'T BUY PINK. The few dollars or even pennies donated per item can't provide enough funding to help in a big way. Women with breast cancer would be better off if you simply made a donation to an appropriate charity.”
Then Jill lists some suggestions if you do want to help, including making donations to breast cancer research, education, early detection, patient support, and advocacy.
She concludes, “But don't buy pink for me. It doesn't help.”
And this is from a woman who understands cause marketing. Jill was the manager of the Northwest AIDS Walk at the time she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1999.
And, as I mentioned, October causes a lot of anxiety and distress for some breast cancer survivors. "If someone gives me a pink ribbon, I want to cry," one survivor wrote on a bulletin board.
Boycott
I have decided that next October I will not be home to be bombarded by ads for pink products purporting to help me—pink toilet paper and pink TicTacs, Breast Cancer Barbie and pink Campbell’s soup. Nor will I be available to read lame stories about breast cancer and what it takes to survive (a winning laugh, according to one Seattle newspaper columnist). Read The 'Undaunted' Die Too.
I will be on a pilgrimage on the island of Shikoku in Japan, hiking from temple to temple, far away from TV, newspapers, magazines, and advertising in all its forms. I will even leave my beloved laptop at home.
Before I go, however, I plan to organize a boycott.
I’m calling it “Boycott October.”
I will be making pink (yes, pink. It’s the "fight fire with fire" principle) buttons that say “Boycott October,” and then in smaller type: “Don’t buy pink products. Don’t exploit women with breast cancer.”
I will send a button, absolutely free, to anyone who e-mails me and asks for it. I will also send you a flier that you can copy and hand out to anyone who asks about your button. It will explain why you are asking them to boycott pink products.
It is women who control the disposable income in this country. Put your financial power to work and end the exploitation of women with breast cancer.
If you e-mail me your address now, I will put you on the mailing list to receive a button next September. And I pledge not to use this list for any other purpose or to sell it to any other organization or charity (since I am neither an organization nor a charity, just a writer with breast cancer).
@ Jeanne Sather 2006