I’m dreaming of an ethically sound, sustainable Christmas

Is there anything that sums up the zeitgeist of greedy all-consuming capitalism quite like the Turducken? For those living in civilised societies, this Frankenstein of foods is a deboned turkey, duck and chicken rolled into one. I don’t know about you, but I find the idea of tucking into this Matryoshka of meat rather vile. It represents everything that is wrong with Christmas as we’ve come to celebrate it. If you don’t know what I mean, take yourself down to the nearest shopping mall for some prime people watching.

Perhaps, having not been brought up in the Christian faith, I lack a true understanding of the spirit of Christmas. From where I’m standing, it seems like little more than an exercise in gluttony. It’s the ultimate hard sell. Supermarkets begin piping carols in October and, soon after, tinsel and fake snow abound in window displays. By the time December swings around, I want to punch the smug Gluwein-glowing nose of anyone who dare hum Silent Night. I’d love to say that, as I’ve gotten older, Christmas has lost its sparkle but, to be honest, I’ve never been a huge fan.

Even as a child, this holiday filled me with dread. Being from a family of fallen Jews, I didn’t receive much in the way of religious instruction. We had big family dinners at my grandparent’s house twice a year, but the only ritual we followed was a toast to the ghost and the order in which we ate. The first course consisted of herring in all its incarnations, chopped liver covered in grated boiled egg, and Gefilte fish – a ball of minced fish in aspic (if you have any doubt as to how far we have fallen, last year my mother used gelatin to set her Gefilte fish). The second course was always chicken soup and kneidlach, a rather tasteless yet morish dumpling made of matzos meal. I don’t remember much about the last course, because I was always too stuffed to eat any more by the time we finally got there, excepting to say it consisted of a roast meat with trimmings. Those two dinners just about sum up the extent of my induction into Jewishness. To compound matters, I went to the local government primary where I was the only Jewish child apart from my older brother. Besides the obvious bullying this difference induced my fellow students to engage in, it also left me feeling rather bereft come the Christmas holidays. Not only was I the sole child in my class that Santa hadn’t visited, but it left me sans companions as all my classmates celebrated with their extended families. It sucked so badly I briefly became a reborn Christian when I was twelve but, when this still didn’t bring any presents, the faith didn’t stick.

So, I hear you heckle, what’s the difference between a Jewish or Muslim holiday where people stuff themselves and Christmas? I guess, apart from the obvious, it’s the fact that, at Christmas, greedy consumption spreads further than the dinner table. Not that Jews or Muslims don’t cram their lives with useless gadgets and fill their kid’s toy chests with overpriced plastic Disney characters, we’re all living in the same soceity of misplaced values, they just don’t have a holiday that encourages the kind of rampant consumerism evidenced in shopping malls at this time of year.

You might think my longstanding distaste of Christmas makes me a Grinch. Not so. I’m married to a (fallen) Catholic whose fond memories of the holiday leave me wanting to make it special for our child. I’m left wondering how to participate without maxing out my bank account in a buy, buy, buy flurry of materialistic avarice. Julian remembers the excitement and anticipation of having to wait for his presents while his sisters each took a turn opening one of theirs. He feels this taught him to take pleasure in other people’s joy. This may be a stretch for meaning, but perhaps the concept of giving without getting is something that’s missing from the 21st century version. I find myself asking what lessons I want my child to take from Christmas. Do I want her to tie her self-worth to the latest iPhone or Barbie? Or would it be preferable to have her feel good about doing something for another human being that brings them joy, and discover that Santa has left a modest amount of gifts under the tree for her as a reward?

The other thing that bugs me about Christmas is that it isn’t the most environmentally sound holiday. When I was living in the UK, I was horrified to see how people lit up their houses with neon reindeer, Santas and lights. I’m sure Martians look down on Earth in December and see a flickering planet as millions of faerie lights blink in time to Jingle Bells. In South Africa, we’re a little more modest, but we still waste an incredible amount of energy, resources and food. But a Christmas tree just isn’t the same without lights, so I set out to track down eco-friendly tree lights and found these. I also thought a bit about the tree itself. Although plastic lasts, the manufacturing process ain’t exactly green and once made, it gives nothing back. But Christmas ain’t Christmas without a tree, so I took a trip down to the local nursery and found an indigenous tree that I’ll pot up and keep in my garden, bringing it in every December until it outgrows us. Then we’re planning to take the tree to a public planting on Arbor Day and donate it to a park. 

These thoughts may sound sanctimonious, but I do want my child to have an Earth to inherit, and if it means pissing a few die-hard capatalist consumers off by coming across all preachy on my blog, then so be it.

The Greenworks has many more ways to green your Christmas on their website.

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