“Jerry quits Ben & Jerry’s, saying its independence on social issues has been stifled.”
My first reaction to this Associated Press headline was “wow.” Not because co-founder Jerry Greenfield is leaving, but because the ice cream maker with a conscience kept the independence it so cherished for a quarter of a century after what it called a “merger” with Unilever in 2000.
At the time, the rationale for selling was that it would allow the Vermont-based business (or social enterprise) to increase its impact. For many, that sounded like a familiar script: a small, idealistic brand swallowed by a global conglomerate, with its values inevitably watered down in pursuit of scale. Except for an astonishingly long time, that didn’t happen.
Ben & Jerry’s was the real thing long before corporate social responsibility became fashionable. They didn’t bolt on purpose to sell more tubs. They baked it into the company’s DNA. Unlike other brands that occasionally remind us of their higher calling, Ben & Jerry’s puts activism right up there on its website’s navigation bar, next to FLAVORS.
They didn’t just “love making ice cream.” They treated ice cream as the means to a mission: “Using our business to make the world a better place gives our work its meaning.” Whether it was climate action, racial justice, LGBTQ+ rights, or peace advocacy, the company consistently pushed issues that risked alienating some consumers. That was the point. It was never about universal appeal. It was about universal values, expressed through ice cream.
That’s what makes Jerry’s departure so telling. The brand remained true to itself for far longer than one could have foreseen. In corporate time, 25 years is an eternity.
And in recent years, another type of “activism” has been pulling in the opposite direction. Culture warriors like Robbie Starbuck have mobilised campaigns against brands that take progressive stances, weaponising boycotts and social media outrage.
In today’s climate, “brand purpose” is no longer just a warm halo. For large corporations that need powerful friends like governments, regulators, and investors, purpose becomes radioactive when it manifests as true activism. Fly too close to the sun, and the ice cream melts. Even Ben & Jerry’s couldn’t defy gravity forever.
Closer to home, Jerry’s decision should be a wake-up call. Those neat little “values” listed on websites, repeated in social posts, and proclaimed in campaigns are facing heightened scrutiny. Not just from activists on the left or right, but from consumers growing more sceptical, if not outright cynical, about whether brands truly mean what they say.
Bill Bernbach, the ad legend behind some of the most enduring campaigns of the 20th century, put it best: “A principle isn’t a principle until it costs you something.” That line should hang in every CMO’s office today.
If your brand claims inclusivity, sustainability, or justice as part of its identity, ask yourself: when did those commitments last cost us something? Did we stick to them when they risked sales, shareholders, or political backlash?
Because the lesson of Jerry’s exit is this: Utopias don’t last forever, and brand purpose isn’t immune to the heat. For Ben & Jerry’s, the ideal survived much longer than expected.
Éric Blais is president of Headspace Marketing, a consultancy that helps marketers build brands in Quebec. He can be reached at feedback@headspacemarketing.
