When I first think about the term ‘disposability’, what comes to mind is usually single-use items such as plastic utensils, paper cups, or packaging that’s used once and then thrown away. But as I’ve learned in class, disposability goes beyond objects. It’s a mindset shaped by our political and economic systems, where both things and people (yes, people) can be treated as waste.
The concept of disposability emerged with industrialization and mass production, where convenience and profit became more important than sustainability. This mindset is something I’ve noticed at Boston College and in many countries, especially during move-out season. Every year, I see piles of perfectly usable items such as mini-fridges, furniture, and clothes that are left behind by students. In Paris, for example, it is common to see a couch on the street or a mirror. One time, I found a nearly new microwave discarded outside a dorm building. These items weren’t broken, but it was easier to throw them away than to find a new use for them –which I believe shouldn’t be the case.
But disposability doesn’t stop at objects. Our systems often treat marginalized communities as disposable too as discussed by some of the readings in class. Some communities, often made up of low-income families and people of color, bear the brunt of environmental harm while being deemed less valuable by society.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, I also saw how essential workers—especially those in low-wage jobs—were celebrated as “heroes” but treated as expendable. They risked their lives with little protection or compensation, reflecting how even human lives can be viewed through a disposable lens.
Understanding disposability through the lens of waste in the political economy makes me more aware of these inequalities. Moving forward, I want to be more conscious of how I contribute to disposability, both in my personal choices and by advocating for more sustainable and just systems.