Consumption, counterfeits, and their ethics in the Global South

In the context of both the Global North and Global South, consumption and consumerism is often linked to notions of modernity. This is especially the case with respect to fashion, perpetuating the entrenched association of the consumption of Euro-American fashion styles with modern lifestyles (Newell Reference Newell2012; Jansen Reference Jansen2020). While in colonial and postcolonial times, European dress had indeed become a symbol of modernity and social advancement for many Africans (Hendrickson Reference Hendrickson1996; Ross Reference Ross2006), the role of fashion consumption on the African continent is more complex than that. Fashion consumption patterns both express and forge middle-class identities, have developed along home-grown desires and cosmopolitan connections, and are shaped by local media productions, just to name a few phenomena with larger social, cultural, political, economic, and historical relevance (Spronk Reference Spronk2014; Ryan Reference Ryan2015; Prestholdt Reference Prestholdt2008).

This complexity is especially evident in relation to counterfeits. As Sasha Newell (Reference Newell2012) explains in his fascinating book on youth culture, consumption, and ideas of modernity in Côte d’Ivoire, fakes are not evaluated according to Western logics of authenticity. Instead, bluffing with branded counterfeits is admired as a performance of taste and cultural power, where quality matters more than authorship. Building on Edward Palmer Thompson (Reference Thompson1971) and James C. Scott (Reference Scott1977), he frames this as a moral economy: consumption is judged within a system of social relations, rather than by legality or profit alone.

Considering economic actions such as consciously buying or selling counterfeit goods as made acceptable or not in certain communities through systems of moral evaluation built on cultural conventions and social norms certainly is an important step away from more abstract, decontextualized perspectives such as rational choice theory (see also Hann Reference Hann2018). Nevertheless, it leaves out another important aspect, namely, the pragmatic, situated, daily-life evaluations of these norms, which eventually affect their application (see also Laidlaw Reference Laidlaw2014). In the last two decades, a range of anthropologists have engaged with exactly those “everyday ethics” (Keane Reference Keane2019) or “ordinary ethics” (Lambek Reference Lambek2010), even leading to the heralding of an “ethical turn” in the discipline (Mattingly and Throop Reference Mattingly and Throop2018).

Webb Keane (Reference Keane2016), for example, describes ethics as encompassing both everyday evaluative practices, which are often tacit, habitual, or embodied, and formal morality systems, which are more codified, rule-based, and institutionalized. He therefore makes clear that economic behaviour is not reducible to either individual psychology or collective norms. Embedded in the specificity of social life within communities, and always mediated, reflexive, and social, ethics are enacted through semiotic practices, Keane stresses. According to him, ethics materialize in social interactions, specifically through the ways people use words, gestures, sign, codes, and material forms to index, evaluate, and regulate conduct. Michael Lambek (Reference Lambek2015) concurs by focusing on the ordinariness of ethical life and the importance of language, everyday speech, and ritual in order to understand how ethics are lived. Framing counterfeits as part of these ordinary ethical practices shifts attention away from universal rules (such as intellectual property law) and toward situated concerns of access, quality, and dignity.

This contrasts sharply with Eurocentric intellectual property regimes. Codifying binaries of authentic/original versus fake/counterfeit, Western trademark, copyright, and patent laws provided the basis for the current international agreements on intellectual property protection. Following the Paris Convention of 1883, and the Berne Convention of 1886, the United International Bureaux for the Protection of Intellectual Property was founded in 1893. With its establishment in 1960, the World Intellectual Property Organization became its direct successor (Pinheiro-Machado Reference Pinheiro-Machado2017). Since 1994, the agreement on Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS) by the World Trade Organization has stipulated a comprehensive set of intellectual property regulations for all WTO member states, including China and most African countries (Peukert Reference Peukert, Röschenthaler and Diawara2016).

The way that the boundaries and economic effects created by international IP regulations put people and producers located in the Global South at a disadvantage is a major point of criticism. This discrimination can be traced back to the fact that most IP laws were introduced into non-Western countries during colonial times. Serving to protect European interests, they practically excluded local populations from benefitting from these legislations, which were often insufficiently revised during the process of decolonialization in the second half of the twentieth century (Peukert Reference Peukert, Röschenthaler and Diawara2016; Sodipo Reference Sodipo1997). It should be noted, however, that this was not so much the case in Mozambique, as Portugal only began applying its national copyright law to its then-colonies in the 1940s. Later on, Alexander Peukert criticizes, countries in the Global South were included in the existing global intellectual property system without addressing their specific needs and circumstances (Peukert Reference Peukert, Röschenthaler and Diawara2016). Rosana Pinheiro-Machado sees this undifferentiated and careless inclusion as an attempt by Western economies to disrupt informal trade systems in the Global South, and to reinstate their own control (Pinheiro-Machado Reference Pinheiro-Machado2017).

Boatema Boateng (Reference Boateng2011), as well as Esther Darku and Nombulelo Lubisi (Reference Darku and Lubisi2020), have observed that in the case of the commercialization of traditional Ghanaian textiles, this imposition causes a clash between IP law on the one hand and cultural norms and market practices on the other. Even though hegemonic IP discourses are sometimes instrumentalized in non-Western contexts to voice and resolve local grievances, they attest to the fact that, in its current form, intellectual property legislation is not sufficiently able to protect and preserve local cultural goods (Cant Reference Cant2015; Thomas Reference Thomas2012; Darku and Lubisi Reference Darku and Lubisi2020; see also Röschenthaler and Diawara Reference Röschenthaler and Diawara2016). Moreover, Western-shaped trademark and copyright laws have created virtual monopolies of certain products that are cheap and easy to produce (including garments and textiles), unfairly criminalizing a wide range of different practices that are not necessarily economically or physically harmful (Dent Reference Dent2012; Nakassis Reference Nakassis2013; Pinheiro-Machado Reference Pinheiro-Machado2017).

Ethnographic studies show that across the Global South, authenticity is not understood as a fixed legal category but as a relational, situational judgment. Elizabeth Vann gives an example of the diverse cultural construction of fakeness in her study of Vietnamese fashion consumers who classify counterfeits as being bad “fake” or good “mimic” products according to their quality and reliability. “Fake goods” are attractively packaged but worthless goods, which try to deceive unsuspecting shoppers. The term “mimic goods,” however, is used to describe high-quality copies of well-known brand products (“model goods”). They are regarded as being normal and not necessarily deceitful (Vann Reference Vann2006). Furthermore, the inexpensive, fashionable, and decent-quality mimic goods allow the Vietnamese middle class “to be conspicuous consumers at home while maintaining a semblance of comparableness with their counterparts in wealthier countries,” Vann (Reference Vann2006, 291) points out. They are therefore seen as sincere and positive, raising the self-esteem of a large group of globally minded people who would otherwise not have access to such a wide range of expressive possibilities.

In their studies on Chinese-made consumer goods in Cameroon and Chinese-made motorcycles in Burkina Faso, Ute Röschenthaler (Reference Röschenthaler, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020) and Guive Khan-Mohammad (Reference Khan-Mohammad, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020) elaborate that there is no binary division between “counterfeit” and “original” in Chinese-African trade either, but a continuum of gradations. What is more, these terms are usually not used to denote creative ownership, but quality. Röschenthaler makes it clear that for both Chinese producers and Cameroonian traders, “IP law is rather dispensable and does not seem to help them make their business more sustainable” (Reference Röschenthaler, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020, 281–82). While intellectual property law discourse is sometimes used to complain about the business activities of others, daily practices are more complex, and hardly related to product authenticity in a Western sense. Cameroonians not only use “original” and “copy” to distinguish high- and low-quality products, but also differentiate between a wide range of variations of originality. With little appreciation of trademarks, and general mistrust towards official IP organizations, Chinese goods on the Cameroonian market are not priced according to whether they are original or how convincingly close to the original they seem to be. Instead, their price depends on their quality, whereby a high-quality counterfeit can be as expensive as an original item. To satisfy the needs of different consumers, many Cameroonian traders offer a portfolio of products with different levels of quality, all of which claim to be of the same brand (Röschenthaler Reference Röschenthaler, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020).

Röschenthaler explains that the concept of the quality portfolio was taken over from China, where producers are used to delivering products in different qualities to different markets around the world. Now, Chinese producers and Cameroonian traders cooperate in creating these portfolios. Local Cameroonian consumers appreciate the variety of quality and price levels available to them. Even though not all traders are transparent about the quality levels they offer, and there is no possibility for the consumers to countercheck, it is commonly assumed that the Chinese are importing “third or fourth choice” to Cameroon, while local traders import “first or second choice” (Röschenthaler Reference Röschenthaler, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020, 287), implying higher levels of quality. This is reminiscent of the South African shoe trader who told Margaret Lee that she sold “better fake brands” (Reference Lee2014, 72) than the Chinese. Röschenthaler highlights how, with Africans reimporting ideas about branded products from China to their home countries, authenticity has become more uncertain. Brand names are still seen as hints for quality, but closer investigation and scrutiny is always needed. Beyond the attention of international IP frameworks, the “Afrasian commercial space” (Reference Röschenthaler, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020, 297) has created product knowledge and quality portfolios that are uniquely adapted to the “specific needs and requirements of individuals” (Reference Röschenthaler, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020, 280): securing competitiveness of Cameroonian trading businesses while offering attractive goods for every customer’s budget.

Guive Khan-Mohammad agrees that with an “unprecedented diversity of counterfeits … the boundaries between ‘counterfeit’ and ‘original’ are constantly reshaped in the very dynamic Sino-African trade” (Reference Khan-Mohammad, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020, 303). He shows that in the Burkinabe motorcycle trade, relying on well-known brand names such as Yamaha makes it possible for local traders with little resources to enter the business (see also Fioratta Reference Fioratta2019). It is very easy for them to get different types of “Yamaha” motorcycles produced in China (see also Lee Reference Lee2014). Some motorbikes only receive their brand markers, such as stickers or logos, after arriving in Burkina Faso, others are from licensed Chinese factories but are surplus products, so there is no clear line between authentic and inauthentic. According to Khan-Mohammad’s informants, “first choice” signifies an original product, “second choice” means a good-quality copy, and “third choice” stands for a low-grade copy. These levels of authenticity can be compared to the “levels of fakeness” described by Newell (Reference Newell2012, 260) and Vann (Reference Vann2006). Despite the social construction and constant reshaping of these categories, they have a real impact on who can sell what, to whom, and at which price. Khan-Mohammad (Reference Khan-Mohammad, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020) stresses that they are not intended to deceive customers but to follow a clear commercial rationale in a very competitive business sector.

Looking at product authenticity in the context of African print fabrics, Nina Sylvanus (Reference Sylvanus2016), for example, has shown that the Togolese resist the intellectual property discourse introduced by European companies such as Vlisco that are trying to ward off Chinese competition by promoting their fabrics as “true originals.” Sylvanus states, “consumer evaluations of authentic and counterfeit, and original and copied goods rarely match legal evaluations; instead they exist in different regimes of value” (Reference Sylvanus2016, 162), exemplifying that laws are not the only way to determine what is authentic and what is not. She shows that in the Togolese case, what matters most to consumers is the “power to make the self” (Reference Sylvanus2016, 164), namely “the quality of the cloth, and its ability to enhance and singularize the woman” (Reference Sylvanus2016, 163).

Studies from Ghana (Thiel Reference Thiel, Giese and Marfaing2019; Axelsson Reference Axelsson2012) further reveal how in the Chinese-African space, authenticity discourses are strategically mobilized to contest Chinese imports or defend European manufacturers. Likewise, Diana Kamara (Reference Kamara2021) argues that the concept of “authenticity” is often employed for self-serving purposes, diverting attention from more pressing issues, such as the gendered dynamics shaping the production and consumption of African textiles. In the introduction to a Journal of African Cultural Studies special issue on “Fakery in Africa,” Patricia Kingori makes clear that “the fake hinges on financial profits—it either seeks to make money in mimicking the real, or there is economic value in the creation and dissemination of concerns about the fake” (Reference Kingori2021, 250). This again underscores that authenticity is always political, relational, and instrumental.

Taken together, these cases illustrate that counterfeits across Africa and Asia are embedded in ethical regimes that emphasize quality, access, and social relations over compliance with Western intellectual property law. Rather than passive victims of fakes, consumers and traders actively evaluate goods in terms of their suitability, fairness, and potential to enhance social life. Following Keane (Reference Keane2008), these classificatory practices can be seen as semiotic mediations, pragmatic judgments about what is good and appropriate in everyday life. Building on this scholarship, this paper examines the ethics of Chinese counterfeits in southern Mozambique. It argues that traders and consumers treat counterfeits not simply as illegal or inferior, but as social goods: items through which people habitually negotiate access, dignity, and care in a context of economic precarity and porous legal regimes.

Beyond “fake” and “original”: Ethics of evaluation

Jorge gives me a tour around the crowded bag shop in Maputo he manages for his Chinese boss. Fetching various backpacks from hangers attached to the shop walls, this seasoned vendor, who was born and raised in Maputo, explains his wares and their different qualities. He presents one backpack made of grey synthetic crocodile leather with a kidney-shaped flap and silver “D” metal charm, which clearly imitates the design of the iconic Dior Saddle handbag, even though Dior itself does not produce backpacks with these signature details. Jorge directly calls the grey bag “fake” and compares it with another backpack that is displayed in the front part of the shop. This is also made of synthetic leather, but of a smooth, dark brown variety. Costing 1,000 instead of 650 Mozambican meticais (in 2021, USD1 equalled MT63), the brown backpack has exactly the same counterfeited Dior design as the first one, yet unlike the grey bag, it is not fake, Jorge says. He expects the “fake” grey backpack to break after one to three weeks due to its inferior material and workmanship. Furthermore, items that are put inside the bag will absorb its synthetic fumes and start to smell, he elaborates.

In between Jorge’s explanations, several customers, usually women, approach him and his staff to enquire about specific bag models, showing them pictures on their phones. When a lady asks for a certain Louis Vuitton handbag, Jorge tells her that they have this model in their warehouse and he can get it for her, however it will be more expensive (at MT1,600) than most of the other bags in the store, as it is “100 percent original” (cem por cento original). To give the woman an impression of the “original” quality, Jorge lets her touch and try another Louis Vuitton-branded handbag in the same price range. Although not completely obvious at first sight, the whole Chinese-owned store that Jorge manages is separated into two parts, with higher-quality bags positioned closer to the door, and lower-quality versions of the same items in the back of the store. Jorge leaves it up to the customers to choose between the more expensive “original” or the cheaper “fake” products. According to him, the “fake” bags sell better, or “run faster,” which is important, as the shop receives new goods from China every month and relies on a quick turnover.

Unrelated to formal standards of authorship or intellectual property protection, Jorge’s classification of counterfeit bags into “fake” and “original” does not correspond to Western-shaped logics of authenticity, reminiscent of the cases described by Newell (Reference Newell2012) and Vann (Reference Vann2006). Jorge is not deceiving his clients by calling a counterfeit Louis Vuitton bag “100% original.” Through his semiotic practices, he is giving them a reliable evaluation of the bag’s material quality instead, following the established yet informal standards of the trade. This makes labels such as “fake” and “original” ethical evaluations, signifying how durable and suitable each bag is for different clients.

Likewise, the terms “copy” (cópia) and “replica” (réplica) are used in a neutral way to describe counterfeit Chinese fashion products in multilingual Mozambique, where—at least in Maputo—Portuguese is usually employed as the lingua franca in daily business operations. Only “knock-off” (pirata) has a generally negative association, which nonetheless can have an admiring overtone. “Fake” and “original” are not the only categories used to describe quality. Descriptions of three different quality “classes” (linhas) that are available in China are mainly used in negotiations with fellow traders and wholesale customers when discussing their respective product and quality portfolios (see also Khan-Mohammad Reference Khan-Mohammad, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020; Röschenthaler Reference Röschenthaler, Achenbach, Beek, Karugia, Mageza-Barthel and Schulze-Engler2020). This sorting of Chinese goods into local hierarchies of value can also be compared to the findings of Röschenthaler (Reference Röschenthaler2021). According to her work, Cameroonians describe Chinese products as “French,” “Cameroonian,” or “Chinese,” depending on their quality, whereby it is possible that some of the high-quality products called “French” are actually made in China (Röschenthaler Reference Röschenthaler2021).

Another highly specific quality classification that is used among well-informed traders is related to the geographical origin of the products in mainland China. Nano, a shop owner from Senegal, for example, explained that fashion items made in Fujian are known to be of good quality. Hubei-made goods are of the lowest quality, whereas the ones produced in Xinjiang lie in between the two. The best-quality products are manufactured in Guangdong, although now these have become widely seen as too expensive for African markets. South African consumers demand Fujian-level quality, whereas Mozambicans are more price-sensitive, Nano explains. He prides himself on offering better-quality sneakers than the “Hubei shoes” sold by most Chinese-owned shops. According to him, the difference can be felt easily when wearing the shoes. Hubei shoes have softer soles than his ones, and their leather is “fake,” meaning that they are made of lower-quality synthetic leather.

For Chinese wholesalers and African traders who are familiar with China and its local differences in production capacity, this province-based information is a valuable and fairly standardized definition of product quality. It is their responsibility to source from the right locations for their Mozambican customers, who lack the knowledge of these trade intricacies. This way of caring for clients through the application of complex semantic and geographical hierarchies is not just another instance of an ethical practice. These classifications also represent ways of judging quality that is both locally and globally inflected, thereby expanding our understanding of counterfeits beyond hegemonic definitions set out by Western IP regulations.

For Mozambican consumers themselves, quality is mostly linked to the material, not to the place of production. Tania, a middle-aged Mozambican woman who works for a private TV company and started importing clothing and accessories from China five years earlier, explained that real leather goods are generally too expensive for Mozambican consumers. The “class” (classe) of people she sells to does not mind that her bags and belts, which are branded as Moschini, Gucci, Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana, or Louis Vuitton, are indeed “replicas,” the trader noted. Her challenge, therefore, is to source items that are synthetic, but of “acceptable quality” (qualidade aceitável). Sometimes, synthetic leather accessories that are not of “original” quality will lose their shape or will break at the bond seams due to the low-grade plastics and glues used in their manufacture. To test the material quality of these goods, she will “bend” (dobrar) them. This way, she can identify and avoid selling “fake things” (coisas fake), which would give her a negative “reputation” (fama). Tania’s customers know that her wares are neither authentic branded goods, nor made of real leather, but they can trust that the materials used still fulfill the expected functions of real leather. Like Jorge, Tania believes that for her clients, it matters more that the goods she offers feel good to the touch than that they feel “right” or “authentic,” as determining this would require direct comparison to the (unavailable) original. She sees it as her mission to select and import goods from China that are visually and haptically appealing, and whose material characteristics are well suited to her customers’ intended uses and everyday realities. Thereby, counterfeits become ethical goods because they are judged as “good enough,” providing style and dignity at prices clients can afford.

In another Chinese-owned store in Maputo that sells counterfeit bags in two different qualities, a Mozambican shop assistant held up two almost identical Louis Vuitton backpacks next to each other to demonstrate their divergent material compositions. He called the material of the more expensive version “capital,” which he described as a very good and resistant “leather copy” (cópia da pele) that is “just like leather.” The cheaper backpack was of a synthetic material that did not match the characteristics of leather. The vendor demonstrated that this one had a lighter colour tone and was flimsier to the touch. Again, it “depends on the wallet” (depende da bolsa) which quality each retail customer selects. Transparently informed about the different grades of synthetic leather, they can expect to receive a suitable quality level for their money.

Like the other systems used to describe counterfeit fashion products in Mozambique, these classifications are not just technical. They are ethical practices that position traders as responsible actors who care for clients by offering choices and transparent evaluations. Moreover, these informal yet precise and pragmatic ways to facilitate daily business interactions subvert formal standards of quality and authenticity. This adds a new perspective to the understanding of counterfeits in the Global South, one that is rooted in both local (Mozambican) everyday realities and global (Chinese and Western) imaginaries and connections.

Negotiating legality: Ethics across borders

In September 2019, Pope Francis was expected to pay a three-day visit to Mozambique. To celebrate the arrival of this widely revered religious leader, several commemorative capulana (traditional Mozambican wrap fabric) designs were commissioned beforehand, mostly from Chinese producers. One design produced for the occasion by the Chinese brand Joyueta, and which was especially popular in August 2019, showed a portrait of the Pope surrounded by a banner stating, “Welcome to Mozambique His Holiness Pope Francis the 16th” (Bem vindo a Moçambique Sua Santidade Papa Francisco XVI). This drew the attention and ire of the official papal visit Management Commission, which pointed out that Pope Francis the 16th did, in fact, not exist (Pope Francis had probably been mixed up with his predecessor, Pope Benedict the 16th, by either the Chinese producers or the Indian importers). They condemned the sale of the illicit Pope-themed capulanas, which did not carry the official logo sanctioned by the Catholic Church (Club of Mozambique 2019). A representative of the Commission stressed that such embarrassing cases of counterfeiting are bad for the image of Mozambique and its people, causing foreigners to consider Mozambicans as “ignorant.” Therefore, he urged local authorities to prevent the further circulation of the “fake” capulanas (Club of Mozambique 2019).

Despite the public outcry, the unofficial capulanas in many different color combinations celebrating the non-existent Pope Francis the 16th proved to be more popular than the official designs sanctioned by the Catholic Church. Even two years later, they were still being offered in most large capulana stores and people continued to buy them, one seller confirmed. However, the tell-tale roman numerals “XVI” in all the designs had been covered by little dove stickers, or printed over with black stars. When asked about the stickers, one elderly female vendor just sternly said, “it came like that” (vem assim), before turning to other customers. This episode illustrates the multifaceted similarities between brand goods and religious goods: if access to papal fabric is seen as a matter of dignity and belonging, its trade and consumption become ethical acts. Furthermore, it highlights the de facto permissive environment for counterfeits in Mozambique, which is only disturbed by the very rare involvement of foreign entities.

According to Article 309 of the Mozambican Penal Code, not only the production of counterfeits but also the sale or attempted sale of counterfeits produced abroad are illegal and punishable by fine and imprisonment. The reason why this very clear legal directive is so often and so openly ignored in daily business interactions might partly be a historical legacy of the rather lax IP governance under Portuguese colonial rule. The fact that Mozambique is one of the very few countries that had not already joined an international or regional IP treaty before signing the TRIPS agreement in 1995 evinces this laxity (Peukert Reference Peukert, Röschenthaler and Diawara2016). More important, however, is the contemporary circumstance that customs examinations and other interventions by the authorities cause little concern to importers of Chinese-made counterfeits in Mozambique. According to estimations by Amélia Muendane, the head of the Mozambican tax authority, smuggling consumes more than 12 percent of the Mozambican GDP (Muendane Reference Muendane2020). From corrupt border guards up to high-ranking politicians, many people are benefitting from the porosity of Mozambican borders. As political parties in Mozambique are exempted from import taxes, many politicians, especially from the ruling FRELIMO party, are involved in the illegal sale of customs exemptions. Started at the northern port of Nacala in collaboration with Southeast Asian traders several decades ago, this practice has since become a widespread form of indirect financing of the political parties (Nhamirre Reference Nhamirre2022).

Mozambican import controls are perceived as so lax that the main Mozambican ports in Maputo, Beira, and Nacala have become gateways for counterfeit Chinese products destined for neighboring countries.Footnote ² Nano, the Senegalese trader and shop owner, has been importing shoes, clothes, and accessories from China since 2007 (his Senegalese ex-wife still lives in Beijing). He and two of his brothers own seven fashion stores across South Africa, he proudly disclosed. As the “branding goods” he sells at his stores are not allowed in South Africa, he explained, they arrive in Maputo instead. After the counterfeit goods have passed Maputo Port, he smuggles them across the land border to South Africa with the help of trusted truck drivers, “here, anything can pass, only drugs are a problem.” For Nano, the biggest concern is hijacking on the South African side. He estimates that 80 percent of (mostly counterfeit) sneakers in South Africa come in via Mozambique.

In contrast to what the story about the fake pope capulana and the widespread noncompliance with anti-counterfeiting laws might suggest, the people who are involved in the trade and retail of counterfeit Chinese garments and textiles in Mozambique do have legal awareness regarding the legality or illegality of the counterfeit trade, albeit a nuanced one, and one that is arguably informed by ethical considerations. Chinese shop owner Marc sells both hair and clothes in his Maputo stores. Among them are white, red, and grey T-shirts with large Nike and Adidas logos printed on the chests. He purchased these export-surplus items from a Chinese friend, who originally produced them for the actual Nike and Adidas companies. When the commissioners withdrew their orders due to COVID-19, the friend had no other choice but to sell them off to “places like Mozambique,” Marc explains, alluding to what Constantine Nakassis (Reference Nakassis2013) has described as “brand hinterlands.” He demonstrates how his friend had simply changed the inside labels, which now only indicate the size of the garment instead of also stating “Nike” or “Adidas.” He regrets that despite their excellent quality, he cannot ask more than MT250–350 for the T-shirts, whose cotton fabric indeed feels very soft and heavy. Marc freely admits that selling these “big brands” (大名牌) is an “infringement” (侵权), which the respective companies “do not like.” However, he adds, this is what business is like in Mozambique: “people just like the big brands,” so “everyone does it here.” This not only illustrates how close counterfeit products can be to “authentic” ones and how arbitrary the definition of product authenticity is, but it also shows that it is not necessarily the authorities or legal systems that are seen as the main reference for and enforcers of intellectual property regulations, but the brands themselves. If at all, Marc is more concerned about a possible (but very unlikely) negative reaction from Nike or Adidas than from the Mozambican police, who, in his experience, care little about the open sale of obviously counterfeit goods. What ultimately justifies his actions as ethical is not legal reasoning, but his customers’ demand for “big brands.”

Many traders in Mozambique are also aware that in practice, counterfeits are not equally legal or illegal in every country, irrespective of the country’s actual legislation. Independent of their nationality, most sellers of counterfeit sneakers, for example, are fully cognizant that their business would be illegal and most likely also punishable in Europe or the United States. According to their experience, not only Mozambican borders but also legality is porous. Nano, for instance, takes into account that while the sale of counterfeit goods in South Africa is mostly accepted and therefore safe, this is not the case for the goods’ import via South African ports. Hence, he consciously resorts to using Maputo Port, where he does not need to fear any legal repercussions for importing counterfeit Chinese goods—an ethical balancing act. Mr. Shen, a bag trader from eastern China who moved to Mozambique from Hungary, uses a similar, country-dependent classification of legality. When he still lived in Budapest, he shares, he sold different goods than he is presently selling. Here, in Mozambique, he “plagiarises brands” (抄名牌), which is not allowed “in rich places like Europe,” he points out. Like Nano and his colleagues, Mr. Shen seems to pragmatically rank different countries according to their leniency toward the trade in counterfeit goods. With Mozambique being close to the top of the most lenient countries they know of, the traders do not perceive their own business being as illegal, as long as it takes place in Mozambique.

The il/legality of counterfeits is therefore negotiated across borders according to ethical judgments rooted in daily-life business: what harms, what benefits, what gets actually prosecuted, what is acceptable in practice, and where. With the consequences of their noncompliance not being perceived as directly harmful to anybody, and being out of the focus of international attention and vocal concern, counterfeits can become ethical for the people active in the Chinese-Mozambican garment and textile trade. Yet, these goods’ ethicality does not emerge despite their legal status, but in the process of negotiating a legality that is experienced as inherently porous. This also explains why, following the Pope’s visit to Mozambique in Summer 2019, and the subsequent fading away of international publicity, neither local authorities nor traders saw the need to halt the sale of the counterfeit pope capulanas.

Most people involved in the Chinese–Mozambican garment and textile trade never use the term “authentic” (autêntico/真实) in relation to their goods. They rather use “original” to describe items that conform to an actual original, reproducing essential features, such as material, design, and quality. This is also the case for Mozambican consumers. In conversations with importers, traders, and sellers of Chinese-made goods, they also never refer to their wares as “counterfeits” (contrafeitos), “imitations” (imitações), or “falsifications” (falsificações). There are, however, instances of Mozambican designers and brand owners who actively instrumentalize conventional notions of authenticity in order to differentiate their own goods from Chinese imports. On July 13, 2021, Mozambican designer Nivaldo Thierry shared a written announcement with his more than 200,000 followers on Facebook and Instagram, declaring that he had “become aware of the existence of hats bearing his logo and brand in the informal market, but in a falsified and counterfeit form.” Stressing that the Nivaldo Thierry brand is “duly registered” with the Mozambican Institute of Industrial Property, and enjoys “legal protection against its illicit use in the Mozambican legal system,” the brand distances itself from “any and all counterfeit and/or falsified products bearing the brand and/or the Nivaldo Thierry logo.” With this statement, the designer was clearly referring to official property law discourses to defend his own creations from unauthorized copiers. Aware of his brand’s value, Nivaldo Thierry had experienced first-hand what it feels like when others unlawfully infringe it.

His followers’ social media comments make clear how unusual it is for a Mozambican brand to be on the receiving end of product piracy. While some of them sympathized with the designer and condemned the counterfeiters, whom they automatically assumed to be Chinese, others interpreted the counterfeits as a sign of success and congratulated the brand for receiving the same treatment as international luxury brands, such as Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Hugo Boss. The comments with the most likes complained that, at MT1,500, the price of original Nivaldo Thierry baseball caps was too high. The commenters could understand and ethically justify why less-wealthy Mozambican consumers bought counterfeits instead. Nevertheless, the company’s plea was eventually successful. The INAE raided some of the shops in Maputo in which the counterfeit Nivaldo Thierry caps were being sold and confiscated them. Economically threatened by cheaper Chinese-made products, Mozambican fashion creators, such as Nivaldo Thierry, thus revert to instrumentalizing the usually uncommon notion of authenticity in the hope of demarcating, and thereby preserving, the value and attractivity of their own products (see also Axelsson Reference Axelsson2012; von Pezold and Driessen Reference von Pezold and Driessen2021).

Apart from the involvement of foreign entities, this story represents another situation in which counterfeits are perceived as directly harmful and therefore illegitimate—unlike what is typically assumed. In a context such as the Mozambican one, where the local fashion industry is almost nonexistent and imported garments (new or second-hand) are the default option, local manufacturers and artisans are rarely affected by counterfeits. Only in cases such as the one of Nivaldo Thierry and his struggle against copied caps, the potentially damaging power of counterfeits toward local artists and the national economy becomes apparent to Mozambican consumers, making them rethink their intuitive judgments. This shows the extent to which economic, legal, and ethical, as well as individualistic, social, and national considerations are intertwined in the evaluation and acceptance of Chinese counterfeits. Ethics do not necessarily stand in opposition to legal regimes. Instead, the relationship between ethics and legality shifts and is constantly renegotiated across situations, borders, and positionalities.

Access and the ethics of care: Counterfeits as social goods

Even more than perceived legality, ethics of care and access play a role in the positive reception of Chinese counterfeits in Mozambique. Like Mozambican trader Tino in the introductory vignette, notions of “happiness” and “care” were often invoked when discussing these goods with both Mozambicans and non-Mozambicans. One Mozambican shopper, for example, shared that thanks to Chinese imports, Mozambicans can finally own and wear the clothes and jewelry they had only previously seen on TV. Jorge, the Mozambican manager working in a Chinese bag store, explained that one of the reasons for offering bags in two different qualities was that they have to “take care of poorer clients,” as he put it. Chinese bag store owner Mr. Shen follows a similar reasoning. He realizes that Mozambicans like brands but could never afford genuine branded products, which is why he offers them counterfeits in a price range that is accessible to them, namely MT400–1,200 per item. Even if these low prices imply a rather poor product quality, Mr Shen still tries to strike a balance, making sure that the quality of the goods he sells is not too “lacking” (差). Like Tino and many other traders, he cannot understand why some people work for years just to buy real branded luxury goods for the full price, when a good copy can look and feel exactly the same.

A Chinese shopkeeper, who has been living in Mozambique for ten years, knows very well why Mozambican consumers like to buy Chinese goods that are “replicated” (复制). He claims that the product itself and its quality are more important than any brand name, and describes copied brand goods as the “second best option” (see also Fioratta Reference Fioratta2019). According to him, it is not only the brand name or the logo itself that makes a replica desirable, but also the fact that these goods replicate the “concept” (理念) of the original product, too. Using the German brand Miele as an example, he explains that if one cannot buy a real Miele washing machine, one naturally prefers to buy instead a Miele knock-off that is as similar to the real Miele product as possible. By this logic, the counterfeit Nike sneakers he sells are more “suitable” (适合) for Mozambicans than the real ones, he says. His reasoning reminds of the Vietnamese shoppers interviewed by Vann (Reference Vann2006), who admire counterfeit goods which sincerely mimic the characteristics of original “model goods,” thereby giving them access to attractive and reliable products they could not afford otherwise. Here, affordability is not just economic; it enables inclusion in global circuits of fashion. By framing this access to branded aesthetics as a matter of dignity, joy, and social recognition, it takes on ethical weight. Enabling consumption through the supply of desired goods that are attainable for different income groups thus becomes an ethical practice for the public good, echoing Lambek’s (Reference Lambek2010) notion that ethical life is lived in everyday acts of care, not abstract principles.

Even if Mozambicans had the money and intention to buy original products, such as Nike sneakers or Louis Vuitton bags, these items would be almost impossible to find in the country, even in upscale Maputo malls and shops. No European or US high fashion brand has an outlet in Mozambique. Even in Baia Mall, the newest and fanciest mall in Maputo, only counterfeit Nike sneakers are sold. While online shopping is an option, not all stores deliver to Mozambique or only do so at a high cost. As a result, online shopping of expensive brand goods is mostly limited to Mozambicans who have contacts abroad or travel internationally on a regular basis. One well-off Indian capulana trader said that he and his wife mostly go to Nelspruit, in neighboring South Africa, to buy clothes, as this is the closest place where one can reliably obtain original goods. The clothes sold in Maputo, however, are more “for locals,” he stated. According to him and many other Indian and Chinese informants, the Adidas and Studio 88 stores in the Maputo Shopping mall are the only places in Mozambique where there is a chance to encounter real Western branded goods.

Studio 88 is a South African chain that is described on its website as being the “largest independent retailer of branded clothing and footwear in Southern Africa.”Footnote ³ Even though the salespeople at the Maputo branch assure clients that they only sell authentic products, which they procure directly from the official distributors, suspicions of deceit are rife. The Indian capulana trader, for example, accuses them of sometimes mixing original sneakers with “perfect fakes” that “only a true sneaker lover can detect.” One Chinese informant in Maputo, who likes to wear original Nike sneakers, is of the opinion that nowadays, Studio 88 mostly sells “certified goods” (正品). Yet, according to him, this was previously not always the case. With original branded garments being both financially and physically out of reach for the large majority of Mozambican consumers, selling counterfeits seems ethically acceptable, if not necessary, to many traders. As with the Senegalese traders interviewed by Laurence Marfaing, importers, traders, and sellers of counterfeit Chinese goods have no notion that they are taking customers away from or are otherwise harming Western fashion companies through their business (Marfaing Reference Marfaing, Giese and Marfaing2019).

The common uncertainty regarding the originality of branded products in Mozambique, as exemplified by the case of the Studio 88 sneakers, also hints at a larger issue. When Chinese trader and shop owner, Guo Jing, is asked what my then-fiancé could bring for him from Germany when visiting me in Maputo, he requests headphones from a German brand, no matter which one. He perceives that any German brand would be good, and trusts that in German stores, all goods would be “certified goods” (正品) and there would be no “copycat versions” (山寨版本). “We have some good stuff in China, but I trust the original [from Germany] more,” Guo Jing says. He also asks for a regular Gillette razor, even though these are readily available in many Mozambican supermarkets. But he has tried them before, he explains, and “the feeling was not right” (感觉不对), which is why he also suspects them to be “knock-off” (山寨).Footnote ⁴

His compatriot and fellow shop owner, Rachel, has no faith in branded products in either China or Mozambique. Usually, she uses Chinese e-commerce platforms to order skincare products from European brands for her own use, which her sister then sends to her via DHL. Yet, she mistrusts the items she buys there, thinking that “they do not seem real.” Rachel was therefore very eager to get my assistance in ordering the same goods from Germany. In March 2021, she wrote in a WeChat (Chinese messenger service) conversation about her potential order: “I need original. I buy from China, [the goods] will be here in May and I can’t confirm it is original. And I won’t buy here.” Afraid of unknowingly buying counterfeit products when purchasing them in China or Mozambique, both she and Guo Jing are acutely aware that “original” does not mean the same in the Global South and North. Even though they have different aspirations and standards regarding the originality of the goods they want to consume themselves versus the ones they sell, they end up facing the same marginalization and uncertainty as their Mozambican customers when attempting to purchase genuinely original goods from Western brands. The unreliability of the branded quality available in non-Western countries makes them feel excluded from the Western brand circuit and disillusioned with the emotional connection that brands are meant to forge between them and globalization.

It is precisely this exclusion that shapes ethical orientations toward counterfeits. Because originals are financially and physically unattainable, counterfeits come to embody an alternative moral order in which affordability and accessibility are not luxuries but ethical imperatives. For many Mozambicans, access to fashion is tied to dignity, recognition, and participation in global circuits of style. For traders, offering counterfeits becomes a practice of care toward clients systematically denied entry into “authentic” Euro-American markets. In this sense, suspicion and exclusion form the very grounds of ethical reasoning: counterfeits are not simply tolerated, but actively justified as social goods. By making branded aesthetics available to those who would otherwise remain excluded, they reconfigure the counterfeit not as deception, but as an ethical tool of inclusion.