Patriotically choosy about ketchup

THE gentleman at the grocery shop wasn’t buying ketchup so much as making a foreign policy statement. “Ae kitthe di hai?” he asked, pointing at a bottle of Heinz. “Kinne di hai?” the shopkeeper replied helpfully. “No, no,” came the correction, “kitthe di hai?”

When told it was from the USA, he waved it away as if it were radioactive. “Koyi India waali dikhao,” he said, thereby striking a blow for the nation’s trade balance. Somewhere in India, a tomato swelled with pride.

It turns out that our friend is part of an elite global club: the International Society of People Who Have Stopped Buying American Stuff. Membership is free. The perks include self-righteousness and the occasional discovery that your favourite brand of peanut butter is now on the banned list.

In Canada, the boycott is polite, as you’d expect. Supermarkets have tags saying ‘This product is from America’ alongside ‘This product is from Canada’. They even have apps to help you boycott more efficiently. Maple Scan lets you photograph a product and learn its origins — like Tinder, but for your conscience. Result: American goods are down 20-30 per cent in sales. And that’s before they start apologising for it.

Denmark has stickers on shopfronts declaring “Not American.” Which is like telling you what it isn’t, not what it is. McDonald’s has been hit hard, which must be why Ronald McDonald’s smile now looks like a grimace.

France has gone the Achetez Européen route, with supermarkets slapping “Made in…” labels on shelves. Heinz and Kraft sales are down, which means someone, somewhere, is making mayonnaise in the spirit of liberté, égalité and local supply chains.

Germany? They’re boycotting Amazon and American fuel companies. The Netherlands? Students won’t buy American gadgets in their universities. In Spain, farmers are avoiding US meat and soya while actually endorsing Indian dairy. It’s like a boycott with a curry twist.

The UK has taken it to Parliament, where, for once, everyone agreed on something: they don’t like American imports. In Ireland, they have replaced US maize with bajra. Australians and New Zealanders have gone after Kellogg’s cereals and frozen meats.

South Korea’s youth have made lists of American products to avoid — everything from laptops to lattes. They’ve extended it to Netflix and Hollywood films. Somewhere, a Marvel superhero is crying into his supersuit.

Even the Middle East is giving the cold shoulder to US luxury brands. You know things are serious when people there say no to handbags.

This brings us back to our ketchup-rejecting gentleman. His choice faintly echoes Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s recent call to prefer products with an “Indian contribution.” Not a boycott, he was careful to clarify — after all, many foreign companies, including American ones like Apple, now make products in India, invest in Indian jobs, and feed into local supply chains. His appeal was to reward anything that leaves an economic footprint on Indian soil, regardless of the passport it travels under.

Boycotts, like diets, are easier to start than to sustain. Day one: you skip Heinz ketchup. Day five: you find yourself furtively eating an Oreo and wondering if the boycott rules allow “just this once.”

Still, as the ketchup gentleman has shown, even an everyday purchase can be a tiny act of economic protest. It may not topple empires, but it might make us look twice before putting something in our shopping basket.

So, the next time you are in the grocery aisle, don’t just ask “kinne di hai”. Ask “kitthe di hai”. And then decide if you’d like your ketchup served with a side of patriotism.