My father told me never to get a credit card. It was in the early 1960s and the oil companies were after him to take out a card. “If you can’t afford to pay for gas,” he said, “you shouldn’t be driving.” He frowned on the whole idea of buying on credit. In the 1920s, he prospered enough while working several jobs to build a new house for his parents. He paid for it in cash, and forty years later still had the carpenters’ receipts to prove it.
Nor was I initiated into the world of plastics when I spent time with the Franciscans and then the Catholic Worker. In fact, I was a bit surprised when my father finally capitulated to an oil company and began carrying its card. He was concerned about my mother having a blowout on the freeway, and he was right.
Car trouble was also why Kathleen and I finally decided to go plastic. It must have been five years ago. We were expecting friends from out of town, but they arrived late—a day late. Both accomplished lawyers, they had been unable to rent a car the day before because they had forgotten to bring a credit card to the rental agency. At the time, our own car was breaking down chronically and we had always figured that in an emergency we could at least rent a car for a day. But with no credit—we were living a life of “voluntary simplicity” at the time—and no credit card, our friends’ experience indicated that option was out of the question. We decided we had better apply for a card.
It didn’t turn out to be easy. Our bank didn’t offer one, and we were boycotting a number of other banks and oil companies at the time, for their involvement in South Africa. So we went cardless, until 1989, when we received a solicitation in the mail that seemed to answer our needs and satisfy some of our scruples. The mailing was from Working Assets, a group based in San Francisco. Their literature stated that their credit card and other services (phone and travel options) “work for peace, human rights, and the environment…every time you use them.” In a brochure titled “Tools for Practical Idealists”—what better pitch to a Utopian thirsty for legitimization—we were informed that a Working Assets card was “plastic with principies”: “When you first use your Working Assets [card], we donate $2 to nonprofit organizations working for peace, human rights, a cleaner environment, and aid to the hungry. Then, every time you use your card…we donate another 5 cents to the same progressive groups. All at no cost to you.” There was a list of groups, forty all told, which had received funding since 1986.
It was very impressive, and even though we knew the part about “at no cost to you” was an equivocation, the annual fee was modest and a second card was free. We filled out the application, glad to know that someone in the credit card business was skimming off a little of the cream and sending it to the Trust for Public Land or Neighbor to Neighbor. But even more surprising, we were quickly issued cards.
They’ve come in handy. I don’t know how many whales we have saved, but after a year or two our credit line was raised. Each month, along with a list of debits, the bill included a piece of “practical idealism” printed at the top of the statement. “Saving the environment begins with you,” it said one month. “Recycle, conserve energy, celebrate Earth Day…and use your Working Assets cards instead of cash or checks.” Or there was a plug for one of the other services: “Touch-tone for the ozone! Working Assets Long Distance turns your phone into a tool for social change.” Or, “Rainforest Action Network says 1-2 acres of rain forest disappear each second! You could win a trip to Costa Rica’s rain forests by using Working Assets Travel Service….”
And then there was the democratic aspect: each year, by choosing among groups listed on a ballot, you got to help select those who would get a piece of the Working Assets pie. You could even suggest names to be added to next year’s ballot, and your comments were solicited on this year’s nominees. (The pool to be divided in 1991 amounted to over $500,000 and was apportioned among thirty-six groups; the amount of each award was determined by the number of votes each received.) We voted dutifully.
On this year’s ballot, however, we were troubled by an even greater emphasis than usual on the number of prochoice groups nominated for support. We had known from the start that such groups as Planned Parenthood and Population Crisis Committee were on the ballot and regularly won support, even though not ours. But this year’s ballot seemed to be even more weighted toward prochoice issues. So when I mailed back our ballot, I wrote a note asking why only groups favoring abortion were on the ballot and added, “Where is your sense of choice?”
An answer came indirectly. In its spring newsletter, Working Assets published a number of comments it had received in response to this year’s ballot. Someone had written (there were no attributions), “Thanks for putting Greenpeace on the list.” It was countered by the following: “Take Greenpeace off. They spend too much on overhead and too little on action.” And so back and forth on a variety of issues and nominees, without editorial comment. Until this pair: “More prochoice groups!” followed by “Why do you offer only pro-abortion groups? Where is your sense of choice?”
Here Working Assets drew the line. In green ink it offered its only corrective: “Working Assets is not pro-abortion but pro-women’s rights. We believe that women, not the government, should decide whether or not to bear children. ‘Pro-life’ groups would take away that right to choose.”
The message, while admirably succinct, was simplistic. It seemed to by-pass any consideration of what might actually be the consequence of that wrenching choice—the termination of a human life. Further, Working Assets’ characterization of pro-life groups was simply one-dimensional and misleading. I don’t imagine that Feminists for Life or Harmony—an independent journal which supports the “seamless garment” approach to moral and political issues—would get many votes on a Working Assets ballot, but I don’t see why they couldn’t be included. If choice means anything, particularly on a ballot, it ought to mean there are alternatives.
There is, of course, a choice for card holders, and after this month’s bill, we are seriously considering it. “Abortion rights—and women’s lives—are at risk,” reads this month’s statement. “Support the Freedom of Choice Act by returning the enclosed [post] card. We’ll send it to your senators….Thanks for caring!”
But “caring,” like choice, requires discrimination. So at the moment we are thinking about returning a different card.
