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Of course, there are a few archetypal coffee-drinkers
these scenarios ignore: the alcoholic replacing one addiction
with a new, less debilitating one;
the homeless person who can only afford a cup of coffee
instead of a full meal; the working stiff continuously
jump-starting himself with caffeine throughout
a long tedious workday. In omitting these types from its
list of scenarios, Starbucks means no disservice to
them; in order to present the strongest possible colonialist
message, it's simply more effective to depict
javaphiles as successful, assertive, and in control of
their lives. The characters limned in the article meet
these criteria; they can afford the best coffee the world
has to offer, and they don't want to have to
wait for it. Fueled by assumption and impatience--which,
with refreshing candor, are cast here as the virtues they
truly are--these characters form an economically
privileged, leisure-pursuing elite: their
ability to purchase espresso machines for their own personal
use signifies their membership in this group.
Offering a striking counterpoint to the coffee-drinkers
are the bean-serfs: the brochure in which they appear
is entitled "Starbucks and CARE: Giving back to those who
give us great coffee." Its copy identifies
Starbucks as the largest corporate donor to CARE, and
details the efforts the company is making
through that organization to make life better in the world's
coffee-growing regions. While the ultimate goal of this
brochure is to promote feelings of superiority and entitlement
in coffee-drinkers, the copy's tone is one of concern,
respect, and benevolence toward the
bean-serfs: Starbucks is providing these important members
of their "global community" with running water,
educational materials, health materials, and other donations
designed to improve their health and autonomy. How
could even the most sanguinary bleeding heart
object to that?
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