The hotel industry in Tamil Nadu has suddenly discovered the pleasures of patriotism. With one voice, it has decided to boycott all things American—Coca-Cola, Pepsi, KFC, McDonald’s, and even food delivery platforms like Swiggy and Zomato. The provocation? President Donald Trump’s decision to slap a 50 per cent tariff on Indian goods entering the United States.
On paper, this is a bold response. In practice, it is as effective as pouring water on a duck’s back. The American economy will not even notice if Tamil Nadu hotels stop stocking Coke or Pepsi. The annual turnover of such brands in India is pocket change for Uncle Sam.
The real victims will be the Indian franchisees of these multinational chains. Ironically, most of them are not Americans at all but local Tamils, the very people who are now wielding the boycott sword. In short, the hoteliers have fired at Washington but ended up shooting themselves in the foot.
Boycott, as history shows, is a double-edged weapon. Prime Minister Narendra Modi recently tried his hand at it. Remember his sudden enthusiasm for Lakshadweep? His visit was widely read as a subtle dig at the Maldives, whose leaders had been cribbing about India’s big-brotherly ways.
Travel agents promptly stopped selling Maldivian packages, hitting the island nation where it hurt most—its honeymoon business. Maldives, dependent on Indian tourists, began gasping for breath. And what happened next? India and Maldives kissed and made up.
Millions of dollars of aid were promised to Male, and the boycott collapsed like a poorly baked soufflé. Honeymooners are back on the beaches, and Maldivian hoteliers have stopped cursing Modi.
Something similar happened with Chinese goods after the Galwan clashes. Fiery speeches urged Indians to spurn Chinese imports. But soon, everyone realised that the Indian markets were already drowning in Chinese products—right from figurines of Hindu gods and goddesses to Diwali fairy lights. Even our mobile phones and apps were suspect.
In fact, Chinese traders became so ingenious that they sold the same goods without the “Made in China” label, and our ultranationalists happily bought them. Meanwhile, the Prime Minister shared smiles with Xi Jinping, and the boycott evaporated faster than soda in Chennai heat.
We still bravely boycott Turkish Delights, but that is more a matter of principle than practicality—after all, who eats Turkish sweets in Tamil Nadu? The larger lesson is clear. Trump’s tariffs may be irritating, but punishing local franchises by boycotting their products is economic self-harm.
Especially when the mercurial Trump may wake up tomorrow, tweet something entirely different, and either roll back the tariff or soften it. Taking him too seriously is dangerous. Taking boycotts seriously is even more foolish.
