It’s that time of year again, when a knitter is asked to knit for strangers, to knit for an idea, to knit for small change.
Sure, in theory it looks lovely. Money and awareness for causes and a bunch of knitters feeling good about themselves. Everybody wins.
So why don’t I do it? Why do a cringe when I’m forwarded the “Innocent Smoothie Hat Campaign” or the “Children’s Society Big Stitch Appeal”? Am I just a big Grinch?
For those who may not know, the Innocent campaign asks knitters to make little hats that go on bottles which are sold in markets. 50p of each bottle sold goes to Age Concern, a charity for the elderly in the UK. What happens to the hat once the consumer has finished with the product? It’s probably tossed away, maybe stuck for a moment on an unhappy pet. Why can’t Innocent just donate the funds with every bottle sold at Christmas? (Actually, they only donate 25p of each bottle, the other 25p coming from Sainsburys but who’s counting?)
The Children’s society appeal is asking people to help knit the largest Christmas stocking for a Guinness world record. The emails I have received don’t really explain how this will help disadvantaged youth, besides raising the profile of the organization.
I have received appeals for knitting for premature babies as well as knitting for stillborns. I can see how something handmade might humanize things, and give the parents some comfort. But the idea of actually knitting something for these campaigns strikes me as a base sentimentality. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I have also seen calls for knitting hats for the homeless in NYC. From the campaign blurb:
And keep this in mind: the people who receive your items aren’t likely to complain if there are a few dropped stitches, or if the color’s not what they like. They want to keep warm, that’s all.
You know what? I bet they do care if their hat is wonky. I hope they care. And I’m sure that’s not all they want, either. My father worked with homeless vets for the last 30 years, dealing with the complex problems everyday. There isn’t so much a lack of warm woolens as dire need for affordable housing and health care. Primarily mental health care. It might make the knitters feel good, and maybe even some of the recipients will be momentarily touched but it’s so patronizing– it reminds me of people who get in a charitable mood at Christmas and want to temper their guilt so they drop some money in a beggar’s hand on their way to the mall.
Perhaps I should elaborate here before you think me some kind of monster. When I was a child I was often in the hospital, sometimes in intensive care. Once, a nurse brought me a clown doll made by a volunteer. Now, maybe it was because it was a clown, a yellow clown, but I received that thing with a kind of dread. Surely if strangers were knitting for me, I was doomed? I was the most pitiful of girls, and was probably going to die. I kept that yellow clown around for many years as a reminder of just how bad things could get. Plus, I knew how to crochet and some part of me understood the skill and time involved in its pathetic manifestation. To throw it away seemed even sadder. And then I got over it.
Sometimes knitting isn’t the right way to show someone you care.
Knitting as activism is different. In the current climate, often charity and activism are conflated. They are two different things. Charity throws spare change at gaping problems in the system. It offers some comforting gesture to victims of tragedy. Activism confronts the system with demands for change. For example, things like the Knitted River– are knitted activism. The river has actually been used as spectacle in demonstrations. It is a metaphor for collective action, where the smallest among us is more powerful joined with others, and the project itself has called into question water injustice, educating the knitters involved and the public, as well as making political demands.
And there is Marianne Jorgensen’s surreal anti-war statement– the pink tank cozy. Volunteers knit the squares– this transcends even activism to me. It charges Mike Kelly’s high-art handicraft imagery– which he appropriated from grans all over the world– and gives it back to us.



(photo by mms on flickr)
Give me more collective stitches like this, and then maybe I could feel good about knitting for an ideal.