The Quiet Imperialism of Corporate Sustainability
I studied political science. I’ve worked in the seafood industry for over 15 years. And during that time, I’ve seen the same power dynamics—top-down policymaking, Western-centered agendas, and performative ambition—play out again and again, this time wrapped in the language of sustainability.
Big companies love bold commitments: 100% sustainable sourcing, deforestation- and conversion-free (DCF) soy, full supply chain human rights due diligence. These sound good—necessary, even. But too often, these goals are set without engaging the very people expected to deliver on them.
There’s no feasibility check. No real dialogue with producers. No effort to understand what support or infrastructure is needed to make the transition.
Just a mandate, a deadline, and the assumption that compliance will follow.
We saw this in action when Thailand became the global focal point for human rights violations in seafood. Organizations like the Issara Institute, the Seafood Task Force, and others mobilized quickly, working to address the root causes—improving labor conditions, enhancing oversight, and protecting workers’ rights. But while local actors were stepping up, many key buyers chose a different path. Rather than invest in these local improvements, they simply shifted their sourcing elsewhere. The result? The problems didn’t disappear—they just relocated. Exploitation followed the supply chain. The system stayed intact. Only the geography changed.
Now we’re seeing it again with new feed standards and bold commitments around deforestation- and conversion-free (DCF) soy. (Yes, ASC—I see you 😉.) Many in the industry acknowledge it’s not fully feasible right now. It will raise costs, shift sourcing away from some regions, and likely replicate the same “out of sight, out of mind” approach we’ve seen before.
Because for many, “risk mitigation” doesn’t mean solving problems—it means shifting them.
We also see companies announcing 100% DCF commitments for soy without a basic landscape analysis. No understanding of where producers are. No insight into regional challenges. No clarity on the socio-economic trade-offs. It’s less about transformation, and more about racing to lead the sustainability scoreboard—even if the system underneath starts to crumble.
As a Latin American, I’ll be honest—it’s exhausting. Watching people who’ve never experienced poverty or worked in production systems make sweeping decisions that impact entire communities from afar—even with good intentions—is frustrating. These are often Western frameworks imposed globally, without the local context, nuance, or humility needed to make them truly meaningful.
It’s not sustainability—it’s soft imperialism.
And funders can fall into the same trap—well-intentioned, but disconnected. New initiatives are launched with big ideas and fresh branding, often without talking to those already doing the work. Resources go to reports and toolkits while the on-the-ground challenges remain the same. We keep reinventing the wheel without checking who needs it—or whether it works on the terrain they’re navigating.
Let me be clear: I do believe markets can drive meaningful change. Retailer requirements can be powerful levers. But what if you don’t sell to a retailer? What if your market doesn’t demand these standards? As long as there’s demand for cheap, unsustainable, socially exploitative products, this game never ends, this cycle will continue.It’s easy to champion diversity, equity, and inclusion from the comfort of a boardroom. It’s easy to set ambitious global targets when you’re not the one who has to figure out how to meet them. But the reality is, the people most affected by these decisions—producers, workers, smallholders—often don’t have the luxury of choice. They can’t just pivot to another job or absorb new costs overnight. And yet, when they fall short—not out of malice, but because of real constraints—they’re penalized. Shut out. Left behind. All while the support, training, and resources they actually need are nowhere to be found.
That’s not real progress—it’s performance dressed up as purpose.
I appreciate policies that help us move toward improvement. But progress without producer engagement—without the voices of those most affected—isn’t really progress. It’s just smoke and mirrors.
You can’t feed families tomorrow by cutting them off today. And forcing hunger in the name of a better future isn’t leadership—it’s another form of control.
Real change comes from collaboration. From curiosity. From understanding political, economic, and cultural context. From working with people, not deciding for them. From building systems that enable improvement—not just demanding it.
Until we embrace that, we’re not transforming the system.