Should We Revive the Glen Echo Amusement Park Boycott Model? What Are the Lessons from Civil Rights Activism for Confronting Trump-Era Corporate Complicity
The powers of the purse and credit card are often impactful and profound; they must not be underestimated as agents of change.
It is easy to overlook the power that consumers still wield—not only over the products they buy but over the values they help sustain. The powers of the purse and credit card are impactful and profound; they must not be underestimated as agents of change. People have more power than most appreciate. History teaches us that even a small, committed segment of the population can shift the moral compass of a nation. It doesn’t take a general strike to send a message.
And yet, the moment we’re living through is not business as usual. The rollback of key federal benefit programs—including SNAP, Medicaid expansion under the ACA, and student loan forgiveness—threatens the well-being of millions of Americans. At the same time, environmental protections under the Clean Air and Water Acts, consumer financial safeguards enforced by the CFPB, and basic public health regulations are being dismantled or gutted under the guise of “efficiency.”[1]
Boycotts have long been a uniquely American form of dissent—our way of voting with our feet, our wallets, or our silence. Whether in Montgomery, at the Olympic Games, or against apartheid South Africa, Americans have used refusal as protest, and absence as indictment.
In 1980, President Jimmy Carter organized a boycott of the Moscow Olympics following the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. More than 60 countries joined. A generation earlier, South Africa's apartheid regime was banned from Olympic competition from 1964 to 1992. The United Nations imposed arms embargoes. The U.S. Congress passed the Comprehensive Anti-Apartheid Act over President Reagan’s veto. And thousands of institutions cut financial ties with South Africa, helping bring the regime to its knees.
It’s a rich tradition—dissent without violence, consequence without chaos. Perhaps it’s time we ask whether boycotts might have a place a little closer to home. Senator Lisa Murkowski, once known for occasional independence, recently cast a vote for the so-called Big Disingenuous Bill, securing selective benefits for Alaska while denying equivalent relief to millions of other Americans. She called it a “difficult vote.” That’s one way to put it. Another is that she knew it was indefensible but hoped to explain it away later—suggesting that the House might improve the bill in reconciliation, rather than demanding those changes up front.
Canceling vacation plans to Alaska might be a start for voters to exercise their power of the purse and credit card. Iceland, British Columbia, and blue-state standouts like Michigan, Oregon, or Massachusetts offer plenty of alternatives. Governors in those states could spotlight fun destinations in their home states for summer travelers.
Others might rethink their spending on Alaskan goods—be it seafood, tourism, or artisanal crafts. And if Senator Murkowski is on a book tour while handing power to a lawless president, skipping the hardcover is not retaliation. It’s discernment. This isn’t retribution. It’s accountability. It’s a quiet reminder that principles matter—and betrayal carries a price. Most readers will survive skipping one more self-congratulatory memoir.
But history reminds us that ordinary people can still exert extraordinary influence through strategic, principled resistance. Consider the Montgomery Bus Boycott, the Delano Grape Strike, or the South Africa divestment movement of the 1980s. These weren’t mass walkouts—they were targeted campaigns that combined moral clarity with economic pressure.
We may not need a general strike, but we do need coordinated, deliberate civic engagement—consumer boycotts, support for investigative journalism, and a public unwilling to normalize authoritarian drift.
Why Glen Echo Still Matters
In the summer of 1960, Howard University students and local allies staged a nine-week protest against Glen Echo Amusement Park, a whites-only attraction just outside D.C. They were met by jeers, police, and the American Nazi Party. And yet they persisted—picketing daily until the park desegregated the following season.[2]
Their story, beautifully captured in Ilana Trachtman’s Ain’t No Back to a Merry-Go-Round, reminds us that protest isn’t just about spectacle. It’s about who gets to belong—and who decides.[3]
That same year, four Black college students sat down at a Woolworth’s lunch counter in Greensboro, North Carolina, and refused to leave. Within months, sit-ins had spread to 55 cities across 13 states. By July, Woolworth’s quietly integrated.
These actions weren’t spontaneous. They were deliberate, disciplined, and morally resonant. They forced the public—and corporate America—to choose: complicity or conscience.
Consumer Actions Are Tangible, Empowering and Inspiring
Today’s injustices are less visible, but no less insidious. They show up in the suppression of truth, the politicization of media platforms, and corporate retreats from diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) under pressure from the Trump Administration and its allies.
When ABC, Fox, or CBS amplify Trump loyalists while downplaying ICE abuses or DOJ overreach, they are not neutral actors. They’re participants. When large retailers quietly settle lawsuits with Trump or abandon DEI commitments, they’re not just minimizing risk—they’re endorsing a worldview.
Boycotts, at their best, don’t just punish. They expose. They force institutions to answer for what they’ve chosen to enable. They awaken consumers to their own complicity—and agency.
Why the Glen Echo Model Is Still Relevant
Unlike the 1960s, today’s media and retail systems are fragmented, algorithmically personalized, and resistant to public pressure. But that doesn’t make resistance futile. It makes strategy more important.
To be effective, boycotts must:
Name names. Be precise. Identify the corporations, networks, and investors complicit in enabling authoritarian rhetoric or policies.
Connect to lived harm. Show how changes in media framing or corporate policy affect deportations, censorship, or the silencing of whistleblowers.
Partner with grassroots legal advocates. Groups like Indivisible, Color of Change, and civil rights law clinics must lead—not political PACs alone.
Stay disciplined. The moral force of civil resistance lies in its clarity and commitment to nonviolence.
Follow the money. Pressure shareholders, advertisers, and workers—not just executives.
Resistance Requires Sacrifice
Boycotts aren’t hashtags. They demand sustained attention, clarity, and often inconvenience. But if the alternative is the rollback of due process rights, the gutting of public protections, and the normalization of anti-democratic governance, then inconvenience is a small price to pay.
Our civil rights forebears risked jobs, safety, and freedom. We can cancel a subscription. We can write a letter. We can shop differently.
We can remember that sometimes, the carousel only spins to distract us from where justice lives.
Footnotes
[1] “House Approves Cuts to SNAP, Medicaid,” NPR, https://www.npr.org/2024/05/21/snap-medicaid-cuts; “Rollback of Climate Rules,” New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2024/06/10/climate/epa-rules-rollback.html
[2] “Ain’t No Back to a Merry-Go-Round,” Ilana Trachtman, Film School Radio, https://filmschoolradio.com/aint-no-back-to-a-merry-go-round-director-ilana-trachtman