Can purpose still sell? The changing face of brand activism

“Doing good is good for business.”

That quote, often attributed to George Cadbury, has long been a guiding star for brand leaders who believed capitalism could be a force for good.

For decades, it held true. From Cadbury’s model village at Bournville to Anita Roddick’s trailblazing work at The Body Shop, brands that engaged with societal change were not only tolerated, they were admired. Particularly during the long stretch of liberal consensus that spanned the late 20th and early 21st centuries, business leaders who aligned themselves with social causes were seen as progressive, forward-thinking, even heroic.

Food and drink brands, with their emotional connection to everyday life and culture, proved especially effective at championing environmental and ethical issues. Consumers gave their tacit consent, expecting brands to “do good” but also to deliver on taste, price, and convenience.

Years ago, I led a piece of work conducted by The Prince’s Trust and Business in the Community, in partnership with M&S, Cadbury, and Unilever. We discovered something vital: 10% of consumers would knowingly make sacrifices for ethical products; 10% actively rejected anything deemed “greener” or more conscientious. But a huge middle ground, around 80%, were supportive of ethical initiatives as long as they didn’t compromise on enjoyment or hit their wallets. Brands like Ben & Jerry’s, like The Body Shop before them, struck this delicate balance brilliantly—delivering indulgence, joy, and a promise of a better world in equal measure.

When Unilever acquired Ben & Jerry’s in 2000, it praised the brand for its “strong commitment to social responsibility”, explicitly promising to preserve its unique mission-led identity. For years, it worked. Ben & Jerry’s didn’t just market values, it lived them, whether campaigning for climate action, racial justice, or LGBTQ+ rights. It was a wondrous poster child for purpose-driven branding.

But for some the world has changed. Since that acquisition, we’ve seen the rise of Brexit, the election of Donald Trump, the polarising aftermath of the COVID pandemic, and a more divisive, tribal popular discourse take hold. The Brexit referendum ended in a narrow 48/52 split. Since then, the US has endured three bitter, near-evenly split elections. Consensus, or even the illusion of it, has evaporated.

Much of this shift has been amplified by the architecture of the social media platforms where public debate now lives. Algorithms built to drive engagement reward outrage, not nuance. Posts that provoke strong emotions; anger, fear, moral certainty, are boosted and spread, while more measured, balanced voices are drowned out. In this environment, it’s harder than ever for brands to strike a tone that feels principled rather than performative, meaningful rather than polarising. And any position attracts far more attack than support.

As a result, brands that take a stand now risk alienating as many people as they inspire. And attract disproportionate, sometimes confected and engineered, online invective. The space for activism has narrowed, and the stakes are higher. Ben & Jerry’s, once admired for its boldness, has found itself under pressure, from political leaders, from commentators, and even from its own parent company.

So, where does that leave brand activism? Can businesses still speak out meaningfully without getting drawn into the bitterest divisions of our time?

Yes. But the landscape has changed. There’s now an important distinction to be made between social activism and political activism. Campaigns that focus on widely supported issues like climate action, inclusion, or mental health can still unify and inspire. But wading into deeply polarising geopolitical conflicts, such as taking a public stance in the Israel-Palestine war, puts a brand at risk of alienating vast sections of its audience, regardless of intent or principle.

In Ben & Jerry’s case, the brand’s support for Palestinian rights has sparked intense backlash, not just from a significant number of consumers but from politicians and shareholders too. What once felt like courageous leadership now feels, to some, like political provocation. And the question becomes: How much of this activism is aligned with the brand’s core promise, and how much distracts from it?

Consumers today still expect brands to act with purpose, but they are also quicker to scrutinise motives and demand consistency. They want to see activism backed up by action, rooted in the values of the business, not opportunistic messaging or corporate grandstanding. Empty virtue-signalling can be more damaging than silence.

Which begs the question: Would Unilever buy a brand like Ben & Jerry’s today? In a climate where every position is a potential flashpoint, the calculation is far harder. A purpose-led brand once seen as an asset might now be viewed as a reputational risk. The middle ground, the safe zone where joy, ethics, and business could coexist, has shrunk.

Doing good is still good for business. But only when the definition of “good” is clear, consistent, and carefully navigated.

Richard Exon is founder of Joint.