Let me tell you about my most embarrassing moment as an environmental writer. It happened three years ago at a sustainability conference in Manchester. I was on a panel about ethical consumption, pontificating about supply chains and corporate responsibility, when an audience member asked what phone I used. I pulled out my latest smartphone – barely six months old, replacing a perfectly functional previous model that I’d upgraded from purely because I wanted better camera quality for my Instagram posts. “And do you know the labor conditions of the people who mined the cobalt in that battery?” the woman asked quietly.
I didn’t. I had absolutely no idea. Here I was, supposedly a professional environmentalist, and I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the human beings who had extracted the materials that made my shiny phone possible. The phone I’d upgraded unnecessarily. The phone I was using at that very moment to take notes about ethical consumption. The irony was excruciating.
That moment changed something fundamental in how I approach sustainability. Because true sustainability isn’t just about carbon footprints and recycling rates – it’s about people. It’s about recognizing that environmental justice and social justice are completely intertwined. What good is a “green” product if it came at the cost of human suffering?
I’ve spent the years since that mortifying conference moment diving deep into the murky waters of electronics supply chains. And let me tell you – it’s proper grim down there. The average smartphone contains over 30 different elements, sourced from dozens of countries, processed in countless factories, assembled in various locations, then shipped worldwide. At each step of that journey, there are human beings whose welfare ranges from “decent working conditions with fair pay” to “modern-day slavery and life-threatening environments.”
The mining sector is particularly problematic. Cobalt mining in the Democratic Republic of Congo, which supplies about 70% of the world’s cobalt (essential for lithium-ion batteries), has been linked to child labor, dangerous working conditions, and violent conflict. Workers in Indonesian tin mines often operate without basic safety equipment in mines prone to deadly landslides. Gold mining frequently involves toxic mercury that poisons both workers and local water supplies.
But it’s not just the mining. Assembly workers in electronics factories regularly face excessive overtime, exposure to dangerous chemicals, and wages that barely cover living expenses. I interviewed a former factory worker from Shenzhen last year who described working 14-hour shifts, six days a week, standing the entire time, repeating the same tiny movement thousands of times per day, all while exposed to cleaning solvents that gave her chronic headaches and respiratory problems. She was 24 and had already developed arthritis in her hands.
It’s easy to feel completely helpless in the face of such complex problems. That’s how I felt for months after the conference incident. I’d stare at my phone with a mixture of guilt and resignation. How could I possibly know enough about the labyrinthine supply chains behind my electronics to make truly ethical choices? Was I supposed to just… not have a phone? In today’s world, that’s hardly a realistic option for most of us, especially those whose livelihoods depend on being connected.
But as with most overwhelming problems, the answer isn’t perfection – it’s progress. After nearly drowning in supply chain research, I’ve found some practical approaches that actually make a difference without requiring you to live in a tech-free cabin in the woods (though some days, I’m tempted).
First, the most environmentally and socially responsible electronic is usually the one you already own. Extending the lifespan of your current devices is the single most effective way to reduce the demand for new resource extraction. The carbon footprint of manufacturing a new smartphone is about 85-95% of its lifetime emissions – meaning most of the damage is done before you even take it out of the box.
I now have a strictly enforced personal rule: no upgrades unless something is actually broken beyond repair or no longer functioning for my needs. My current phone is going on four years old. Yes, the battery life isn’t what it used to be, and no, it doesn’t have the fancy camera features of newer models. But it works, and every month I keep using it is another month without contributing to the demand for new resource extraction.
When something does need replacing, repair is the next best option. My laptop suffered a tragic encounter with a cup of tea last year, and rather than immediately ordering a new one, I found a local repair shop that specializes in liquid damage. The owner, Raj, is a wizard with electronics and managed to save everything except the keyboard, which he replaced. The repair cost about a third of what a new laptop would have, and kept a perfectly good machine (minus one soggy keyboard) from the waste stream.
Of course, repair isn’t always possible, and eventually we all need to buy new electronics. This is where it gets tricky but not impossible. A growing number of companies are working to address the humanitarian and environmental issues in their supply chains, with varying degrees of commitment and transparency.
Fairphone has been the pioneer in this space, creating modular, repairable smartphones while working to source conflict-free minerals and ensure fair labor conditions. I’ve been testing their latest model for an upcoming review, and while it doesn’t have all the bells and whistles of mainstream flagships, it’s a perfectly capable phone with a fundamentally different approach to production.
Framework is doing similar work in the laptop space, with fully repairable and upgradable machines designed to last. I interviewed their founder last month, and what struck me most was how they’ve demonstrated that repairability doesn’t have to mean clunky design or compromised performance. My next laptop will definitely be one of theirs.
For those who need Apple or Samsung-level performance, both companies have made some progress on responsible sourcing, though they’re still far from perfect. Apple now uses 100% recycled rare earth elements in their iPhone magnets and has programs to recover materials from old devices. Samsung has committed to using 100% renewable energy in the US, Europe, and China (though not yet in their factories in other regions).
Beyond specific brands, there are certification systems that can help identify more responsible options. TCO Certified is the most comprehensive, evaluating products across eight categories including socially responsible manufacturing, environmentally responsible manufacturing, user health and safety, and product lifespan. EPEAT is another good one, particularly for assessing the environmental impact of electronics.
Being the obsessive researcher that I am, I created a personal decision matrix for electronics purchases. It looks at repairability (using iFixit’s repairability scores), company transparency about supply chains, use of recycled materials, proven labor conditions, and of course, the actual functionality I need. It’s admittedly a bit intense – my partner rolled his eyes spectacularly when I pulled out a literal spreadsheet while phone shopping – but it helps cut through marketing greenwashing to make more informed choices.
For those who (reasonably) don’t want to create purchasing spreadsheets, there are now excellent resources that do the heavy lifting for you. Ethical Consumer provides detailed company ratings across multiple ethical categories. Good On You has recently expanded beyond fashion to include electronics. The Repair Association advocates for right-to-repair legislation and supports companies making repairable products.
The secondhand market is another excellent option that’s often overlooked. Refurbished electronics have about 85% lower carbon footprints than new ones, while keeping perfectly usable technology from landfills. Just make sure you’re buying from reputable refurbishers who properly test and repair the devices. I’ve had great experiences with manufacturers’ certified refurbished programs, and with specialized refurbishers like Back Market.
Of course, individual purchasing decisions can only go so far. Broader change requires policy interventions and corporate accountability. The EU’s Conflict Minerals Regulation, which came into full effect in 2021, requires EU companies to ensure their imports of tin, tungsten, tantalum, and gold meet international responsible sourcing standards. It’s not perfect – it doesn’t cover cobalt, for instance – but it’s a start.
Right-to-repair legislation is gaining momentum worldwide, with laws in the EU requiring manufacturers to make spare parts available and design products that can actually be fixed. The US has been slower to adopt such measures, but several states have proposed legislation. These policy changes matter because they shift the entire market toward more sustainable and ethical practices.
What’s been most encouraging to me is seeing how consumer awareness is driving real change. Five years ago, few people were asking questions about the human and environmental impacts of their gadgets. Now, companies are actually competing on repairability and responsible materials sourcing because customers are demanding it.
There’s still an enormously long way to go. The woman from the conference who called me out would probably still find plenty to critique in my electronics usage. I still don’t have perfect answers about how to ensure every component in my devices was ethically produced. But I’m asking better questions now, and so are many others.
Last month, I visited a community repair café in Bristol – one of those brilliant places where volunteers help people fix their broken items for free. An elderly gentleman had brought in a tablet with a cracked screen, assuming it was destined for the bin. One of the volunteers not only replaced the screen but showed him how to do it himself next time. “I never thought I could fix something like this,” he said, looking genuinely amazed. “I always just bought new when something broke.”
Small moments like that give me hope. Every repaired device is a tiny victory against the extractive economy that treats both natural resources and human beings as expendable. Every consumer asking “Who made this and under what conditions?” pushes companies toward greater transparency and responsibility.
I still have that phone that caused my public embarrassment, by the way. It’s now my backup, kept in a drawer for emergencies. But I take it out sometimes as a reminder that no matter how much we know about sustainable living, there’s always a blind spot, always something more to learn. The point isn’t to achieve some mythical state of perfect ethical consumption – it’s to keep asking uncomfortable questions, especially of ourselves.
