'Heartbreaking but inevitable': Ben & Jerry's co-founder resigns; did Israel-Gaza play a role?

It’s rare that ice cream trends on political Twitter, but then again, Ben & Jerry’s has never been just ice cream. When Jerry Greenfield announced he was quitting the company he co-founded 47 years ago, his partner Ben Cohen amplified the decision with a tweet that was both personal and political: “Heartbreaking but inevitable.” With that, one of America’s most unusual corporate experiments—an ice cream brand as a political movement—appeared to melt away.

A brand built on values, not just vanilla

Since its founding in 1978 in a renovated gas station in Burlington, Vermont, Ben & Jerry’s has been the rebel child of the food industry. While other brands sold indulgence and escapism, Ben and Jerry sold conscience with a cone. Their flavours were playful—Cherry Garcia, Phish Food, Half Baked—but the messaging was serious. The brand spoke out on climate change, endorsed same-sex marriage, called for racial justice, criticised wars, and even published essays about wealth inequality on its tubs.

At a time when “corporate social responsibility” meant sponsoring a local Little League, Ben & Jerry’s turned activism into a business model. Customers weren’t just buying ice cream; they were buying into a worldview.

The Unilever takeover

The paradox began in 2000, when Ben and Jerry sold their company to Unilever. For $326 million, the Anglo-Dutch consumer goods giant gained a quirky American icon, but the co-founders claimed they had extracted guarantees: Ben & Jerry’s would retain an independent board to safeguard its social mission.

For years, the uneasy marriage held. The co-founders stepped back from management but stayed visible as brand ambassadors. The pints still carried messages about peace and justice, and the brand maintained its reputation as the corporate conscience of the freezer aisle.
But with time, the tension between grassroots activism and multinational caution grew sharper. Ice cream could be sweet; politics, decidedly not.

The flashpoints

The turning point came in 2021, when Ben & Jerry’s announced it would no longer sell its products in Israel i settlements in the occupied West Bank. The move was consistent with its values-based activism—opposing what it saw as violations of human rights—but it triggered a fierce backlash. Israel condemned the boycott, US state governments threatened sanctions, and Unilever scrambled to contain the fallout.

For the brand’s loyalists, this was Ben & Jerry’s at its boldest. For Unilever, it was a liability. From that point, disputes over who controlled the company’s voice intensified.

The ice cream maker also tried to issue statements supporting Palestinian refugees, endorsing resolutions to end military aid to Israel, and criticising Donald Trump’s policies. Reports emerged that Unilever blocked or watered down such statements, especially those touching abortion, climate change, or healthcare when Trump’s name was involved. For activists who had grown up believing Ben & Jerry’s was the rare corporation willing to “speak truth to power,” this was betrayal.

The lawsuit years

The disputes didn’t just simmer; they boiled over into court. Ben & Jerry’s sued its parent company, accusing Unilever of censoring its political speech and even breaching the original merger agreement. The ice cream company argued that Unilever had no right to muzzle its activism or remove executives who defended the brand’s progressive values.

Unilever rejected the accusations, but the public spectacle underscored the contradiction of a radical brand inside a corporate behemoth. How long could a multinational allow one of its subsidiaries to openly attack governments, presidents, or social systems when the parent’s other brands—Magnum, Dove, Hellmann’s—wanted to stay clear of controversy?

Jerry’s breaking point

In September 2025, Jerry Greenfield finally declared he had had enough. In a statement shared by Ben Cohen, he called his departure “one of the hardest and most painful decisions” of his life. He said the company he co-founded had been “silenced, sidelined for fear of upsetting those in power.”
Greenfield argued that the independence promised in the 2000 sale was gone. For him, staying meant complicity in the erosion of a brand that had once stood proudly for justice, equity, and human rights. Quitting was an act of conscience, a final protest.
The poignancy of his words lay not only in the personal heartbreak but in what they represented: the end of an era where a multinational corporation allowed a brand to operate like a political pressure group.

Why the tweet mattered

Ben Cohen’s decision to broadcast Jerry’s resignation was not just about friendship; it was about keeping alive the narrative that Ben & Jerry’s was still different. In the age of social media, where brands carefully sanitise their messages, Cohen’s raw amplification stood out. It reminded the public that Ben & Jerry’s began not as a product line but as a protest, a way of merging capitalism with activism.
That tweet also signalled to supporters that the struggle isn’t over. The co-founders had already written an open letter urging that Ben & Jerry’s be spun off as an independent company. Their campaign now has a martyr figure—Jerry himself—whose exit embodies the tension between conscience and commerce.

The larger debate: should brands be political?

Greenfield’s resignation lands in the middle of a broader cultural war about whether corporations should speak out on political issues. In the 2010s, “woke capitalism” became a buzzword—brands were expected to take stances on social justice, climate, gender rights, and more. Consumers wanted purpose, not just products.

But the backlash has been fierce. Companies that embrace activism risk alienating customers, provoking governments, or being accused of hypocrisy. Disney’s clashes with Ron DeSantis in Florida, Nike’s campaign with Colin Kaepernick, Bud Light’s partnership with a trans influencer—all show how easily corporate activism can become a political minefield.

Ben & Jerry’s was unique because its activism wasn’t an add-on—it was its DNA. Yet even DNA can mutate under corporate ownership. Greenfield’s resignation illustrates the limits of values-driven capitalism when those values collide with shareholder interests.

What happens now

For Unilever, or its ice cream spin-off Magnum, the priority will be to reassure consumers that Ben & Jerry’s remains a “proud part” of its portfolio. Expect more campaigns focusing on flavours, fun, and nostalgia, less on foreign policy or civil rights. The brand may continue some softer activism—climate change, recycling—but the sharper edges will likely be sanded down.

For the co-founders, the fight may continue outside the company. They remain cultural icons who can rally activists, NGOs, and perhaps even new ventures. Jerry’s resignation could galvanise those who believe corporations must remain political actors, not neutral sellers of sugar and cream.

The symbolism of ice cream

Why does this matter? Because Ben & Jerry’s always punched above its weight. It was never the biggest ice cream brand in the world, but it was one of the most visible in the culture wars. Its pints carried not just calories but commentary. It showed that even something as trivial as dessert could be a battleground for values.

Jerry Greenfield’s resignation and Ben Cohen’s tweet remind us that activism inside a multinational corporation is precarious. It can be celebrated for decades, but when the political costs grow too high, it is silenced. For fans who grew up seeing ice cream as protest, the news feels like the end of a chapter. For others, it’s a cautionary tale: conscience and capitalism can coexist, but only for so long.
In the end, what melts isn’t just ice cream—it’s idealism.