Belching Out the Devil: Global Adventures with Coca-Cola

331 Pages·2009·2.52 MB·English

by  Mark Thomas

Table of Contents

Dedication
Title Page
An Admission
PROLOGUE

Chapter 1 - THE HAPPINESS FACTORY

Chapter 2 - GIVE ’EM ENOUGH COKE

Chapter 3 - SERIOUS CHARGES

3.5 - THE HUSH MONEY THAT DIDN’T STAY QUIET

Chapter 4 - ‘CHILE’

Chapter 5 - THE DAYS OF THE GREAT COKE PLEDGE

Chapter 6 - MAY CONTAIN TRACES OF CHILD LABOUR
Field one
Field two
Field three
Field four
Field five

Chapter 7 - DODGE CITY

Chapter 8 - LET THEM DIG WELLS

INTERLUDE: CONNECTING

INDIA: A PREQUEL
‘Where have the shares gone?’
‘Where’s the water gone?’ Coca-Cola has shut down two bottling plants in
India
‘Where’s the pesticides...?’ …in the bottles of Coke and Pepsi

Chapter 9 - KURIJI

Chapter 10 - GAS

Chapter 11 - THE FIZZ MAN’S BURDEN

INDIA: A POSTQUEL

Chapter 12 - SECOND FATTEST IN THE INFANTS

Chapter 13 - BELCHING OUT THE DEVIL

Chapter 14 - WE’RE ON A ROAD TO DELAWARE

POSTSCRIPT: BRAND LOYALTY
Acknowledgements
Appendix A: Endnotes
Appendix B: Coke Q&A
Appendix C: The Non-Answers of Ed Potter
Appendix D: Death Threat
Copyright Page
To Jenny

An Admission
Globalisation can claim to have won on the day elderly grandparents started
wearing trainers. Somehow it just seems wrong that a generation who fought and
defeated the Nazis with sacrifice, ration books and allotments should endure the
graceless experience of Footlocker. At that moment this very generation who had
endured wars, created welfare states and could mend radios and bikes changed
into consumers. It was around the same time that someone decided that instead
of selling things with guarantees it was more profitable to sell the goods and then
sell the guarantee too.

My own grandmother lived to ninety-eight and was no role model for sobriety or
chastity. Her name was Margaret Isabel and she had more lovers than her family
will ever know. She was small but got into fights because she hated bullies. And
when I went to stay with her as a boy she would bounce me on her knee, sing
Geordie folk songs and entrance me with the smoke rings she could blow. She
could also flip the lit end of the cigarette into her mouth, blow smoke through
the now protruding filter and then pop the lit end out again, using only her
tongue. I utterly adored her. She was a unique woman, who took pride in her
family’s shoes being polished. I’m glad she never wore a trainer. But I cannot
smell Coca-Cola without thinking of her. That is my admission. I used to love
drinking Coca-Cola. Moreover, whenever I held a glass of just poured Coca-
Cola to my lips and felt the bubbles popping under my nose, I would think of my
nan. It was a Pavlovian response. When I stayed with her, every day began with
the two of us making a trip to a coffee shop. She would have an Embassy and a
coffee and I would have a Coca-Cola and a sticky bun. It is one of my favourite
memories.

To this extent I was a classic Coke drinker. It was a treat when I was young. I’d
drink Coke all the time in my twenties and Diet Coke in my thirties. I even
dabbled with caffeine-free Diet Coke, which is about as pointless as
consumerism can get. Coca-Cola is essentially sugar and caffeine and water, so
take out two of the main ingredients and really I was just buying chemically
treated water with a nice logo. But I fell into the ultimate Coca-Cola advertising
trap when I started associating an intricate part of my life, the memory of my
grandmother, with their product. Weaving their drink into our lives has been
Coke’s greatest advertising feat. Why am I telling you this? The fact is that
before I looked into the Company I enjoyed their drink. Immensely. And Fanta,
too. All I am saying really is: my name is Mark and I’m a recovering Coca-Cola
drinker…one day at a time.