The Dirty Reality of Clean Living

In the democratic Republic of Congo, children as young as seven work in crystal mines.

For Ashley, 29, it was the wellness benefits of almonds, particularly as an alternative milk, that encouraged her to make the nut a staple in her diet, going through two cartons of almond milk every week and a jar of almond butter a fortnight. It wasn’t until she was on holiday in California, where 80 per cent of the world’s almond crops are grown and where the thirsty trees require more water than all the indoor water use in the perennially drought-stricken state, that she discovered the impact of her favourite nut on the environment.“I definitely felt guilty for thinking they were a more sustainable choice,” she says. “As much as I would love to, I haven’t cut them out of my diet,” though she has reduced her intake.

Cashew nuts also feature prominently in the wellness industry, whether ground into butter or blitzed into vegan-friendly “cheese”. Grown using excessive quantities of water and shelled by hand by a largely female labour force in India, Brazil, Mozambique and Vietnam, some $20 million worth of cashews are imported into Australia, where we eat more than 16,000 tonnes of them every year. In India, workers have said that they are paid just $3.50 a day and can be left with scars from the acids within the cashew shells. In Vietnam, another major shelling region, Human Rights Watch (HRW) reported that drug rehabilitation centres were forcing addicts into shelling the nuts as part of “labour therapy”, beating them if they did not comply. This, according to HRW, “constitutes torture under international law”.

Catie Gett, naturopath and owner of Melbourne’s health-food destination The Staple Store, isn’t surprised that consumers aren’t always aware of these conditions. Between fair trade, organic, biodynamic, sustainable, zero-waste, ethical … there are myriad concerns facing shoppers every single time they head to the register. “It is so easy to get confused,” she says. “Superfood” is the label Gett describes as “one of the most detrimental marketing terms” we can use. “We increase the demand, refuse to start paying fair prices – that changes the ecosystem of the lands in these countries – and then we move on to the next ‘superfood’,” Gett explains. The South American acai berry, which is used as a base for colourful smoothie bowls, is a good example. “Why would you import acai when we grow beautiful blueberries that are spray-free and just as healthy for you?” she asks.

Turmeric is another example. The vibrant yellow spice had been used in Ayurvedic medicine for centuries before it crossed into the wellness world in 2016 courtesy of Paltrow, again, who raved about a turmeric drink with almond milk on Goop. The fact you can now buy a turmeric latte at Starbucks proves how mainstream it is. Turmeric imports have grown by 40 per cent, to $5 million, in Australia in the past year alone.

Sana Javeri Kadri, a Mumbai native based in California, watched the turmeric boom with interest. She wondered who was benefiting from the huge demand for the spice: Western companies or Indian ones? After digging for information, Kadri learnt the spice market in India was structured in such a way that farmers would receive as little as two per cent of the final revenue for their product, which would often change hands many times before it ended up in trendy food boutiques at a highly inflated price. In 2017, she launched her company Diaspora Co. to sell high-quality turmeric direct from a single farmer to consumers. “It’s often hard to see who is profiting from a system,” Kadri explains. “My attitude has been that you should know where something comes from and honour where it comes from and try to make sure that money is going back to where it comes from.”

Sophie McComas, 31, co-host of the Highly Enthused podcast, is one of the many fans of Diaspora’s aromatic, flavourful turmeric. “What was disturbing to me was that I had never really considered the source of my spice collection, or looked into it at all,” McComas admits. “I’m conscious of where I source fresh produce from, but didn’t give a second thought to the spices I buy. I was embarrassed I’d been contributing to a trade that has exploitation so deeply embedded in it, and hadn’t thought to check.” 

Checking the provenance of our products isn’t always easy, though. The problem with crystal mining is that the process of extraction and its resulting supply chain is so opaque and impenetrable that no-one knows, exactly, who is benefiting from the boom. In 2018, The New Republic published an explosive report revealing just how little is known about where that protective black onyx or that love-channelling rose quartz Ollie keeps with her at all times, has come from. Before speaking to marie claire, Ollie admitted that she had no idea that crystals had such a murky provenance. Now, she’s committed to seeking out ethically sourced crystals.

Shops such as Brisbane’s Unearthed Crystals pride themselves on only selling ethically sourced stones from small, family-owned mines in India, China, Africa and the US. Peta Snelson, director of Unearthed Crystals, says that we need to be wary of over-mining this non- renewable resource – as there is only a nite amount of healing crystals available in the world. “Think about it,” she says, “these stones take millions of years to form and here we are ripping them from the earth, tonne by tonne.”

So, what to do? Remember that consumers have power and your choices matter. Educate yourself on the issues that matter to you, whether ethical practices or sustainable production. Ask questions and shop locally. “I definitely don’t think I am this beacon of sustainable eating all the time,” Kadri says. She stresses that the onus to force real, sustainable change doesn’t sit solely on the consumer. “Conscious consumption isn’t going to save the world,” she notes. “Policy, organisation and activism is what is actually going to change the world.”