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304 pages, Paperback
First published November 1, 2008
I am not of average size. In fact, those with generous spirits might refer to me as a “big girl.” On many occasions, I’ve seen the country where my clothes were made printed on their labels and joked about what the tiny Cambodian women must think when they hold up my pants. Does it take four of them to fold them? I have no doubt it would take four of them to fill them. The jokes are starting to wear thin though. Guilt has taken laughter’s place as I realize that I am just another American consumer buying larger and larger sized pants. Kelsey Timmerman, author of Where Am I Wearing?, might tell me that the guilt is unproductive and that, as it is my role to be a consumer, I’m doing a first-class job. Then, he would introduce me to friends he has made on his journey around the world on a quest to visit the factories where his own clothes were made, and through his friends I could glimpse globalization’s effects on the people involved in the producer / consumer equation.
Throughout the trip discussed in his book, Timmerman had to grapple with his own guilt. At the first notion of visiting the factories where his clothes were made, he couldn’t go through with asking in-depth questions of one of the workers. He says, “Part of me wants to know about Amilcar, but the other part is content not knowing, maybe even a little scared about what I would learn. If the factory was a sweatshop, do I really want to know about it?” (16). He then dismisses his discomfort by saying, “I’m a consumer, and my job is to buy stuff. Amilicar is a producer, and his job is to make stuff. Perhaps, we are both better off not thinking about each other’s life” (16).
We seem to prefer being oblivious to the conditions others live with because, first, once the conditions are known to us we must in good conscience do something and, second, we feel powerless to do much at all. When readers discover that “a manicure in the United States is a half-month’s wage in Cambodia” or that Timmerman’s “camera and lens is five year’s worth of wages in Cambodia,” it is hard not to feel a twinge of guilt (135). My first question is, “How can they live?” Then, I ask myself, “How can I make a difference?” Feeling quite powerless, I am still not sure. I can join Timmerman in dismissing my guilt and embracing my role as consumer. Between me and my husband, we have nine gadgets from a digital SLR to our cell phones that can take pictures and video; I think we’ve got the consumer role down pat. But, that embrace is not as satisfying as doing something.
One action American consumers have taken is to boycott goods known to be made by children. However, Timmerman points out that while the solution sounds good on paper, the results do little more than ease our guilt. He notes, “It would be great if every kid in Bangladesh who spends their days trying to earn money for the family’s next meal could go to school instead of work. But it’s not reality. Not yet” (58). Furthermore, he says, “Not having children make our clothes does not eliminate the reality the many children in Bangladesh must work, but it eliminates our guilt in the matter. It clears our conscience and helps us forget that we live in such a world” (58). What I once considered a heinous exploitation of impoverished children has just become much more complicated thanks to the author. The easy, quick “do something” of avoiding products made by children actually does nothing to improve their day-to-day lives. They still must help to feed their families; they still must survive conditions that most Americans would find abhorrent. When children in “garment countries” cannot find work in factories, they turn to begging, prostitution, and picking through mounds of toxic garbage (144). Obviously, simply avoiding certain products does not go deeply enough.
Interestingly, Timmerman decides that opening up to the people he meets about his own lifestyle can do more than boycotting. As most would be, he is at first hesitant to share “what must seem to be, the gaudy expenses of life in [his] world.” He says, “Actually, I try not to think about them whatsoever because it just leads to guilt-ridden comparisons” (135). For example, he reservedly responds to Nari, a factory worker in Cambodia who hopes to open her own salon in her home village, that a manicure in the US costs about $30. Finally, though, Timmerman decides that educating workers by way of talking about his own life will do more to help them, even if the discussions are uncomfortable for him. He says, “The reason I never discussed my world in depth with the other workers was guilt. But guilt does nothing to inspire change […]. Guilt is something we have to move beyond” (212). In China, the author meets Dewan and his wife Zhu Chun who work at the factory where his shoes were made. After several meetings, he opens up to him about his mortgage and second mortgage, and he even finds common ground: “Dewan smiles and pats me on the back and says, ‘We are the same—both in debt’” (212). Most certainly, the only way to hold open discussions is let go of our guilt. And, the only way to create a sense of solidarity among producers and consumers is through open discussions.
Timmerman points out that corporations do not think consumers “can handle knowing how most of the world lives” (235). Timmerman suggests that corporations will not level with us until they feel safe that we will not abandon our posts as consumers. He is right. Corporations know that the image of their brands is more important than the actual product. In fact, many competing brands are made by the same hands in the same factory (101). Corporations think that if consumers find out that people of developing countries live in one-room flats with several people, eek out barely enough money to send back to their villages and eat, pay fees to get their jobs, work without pay for fear of losing their jobs, and go several years without seeing their families they will knee-jerk react and boycott their brands (214-215). I’m not so sure the corporations are wrong.
Primarily, consumers boycott because it is an action they have the power to do, and without many more options, consumers may feel that at least by boycotting a company, their voices will be heard. However, consumers would do well to listen to the voices of the American past. The most enlightening passages of Timmerman’s book are those that provide an historical perspective. One particular passage discusses that even in our own past “a good garment worker [was] docile and out of options” (54):
Since the Industrial Revolution, our clothes have always been made by those who are less privileged—primarily, young, uneducated women who are desperate for work. In nineteenth-century England, the industry favored women and children for their abundance, the cheap wages paid to them, and their docile temperament. With child labor being frowned upon, when the industry jumped the pond to New England, it relied primarily on young, single women from rural areas. When it moved to the South, guess who worked at the garment factories? Young, docile, women from rural areas, just as when it moved to Japan, Honduras, China, and Bangladesh. The more docile the better. (54)
In fact, Timmerman’s own Grandma Wilt was a garment worker sewing pockets on Lee bib overalls (219). Industry seeking the cheapest labor is not new. America, too, was once a developing country. It, too, has seen the dark side of growth. Furthermore, survivors of the Great Depression know something of the life lived by modern-day garment workers (221). However, like most of my contemporaries, with all our rarely used gadgets, I find it difficult to imagine ever going without. As Timmerman points out, “[m]uch of the reason for this was because our grandparents did. Our life is built on the hard work and prosperity of the previous generations” (221).
Now, with some historical perspective in mind, I consider Timmerman’s question, “Do workers in Honduras or Haiti want a 20-year-old philosophy major in Minnesota participating in die-ins in their name?”(19). The author says, “Maybe the workers are glad to have a job even though their pay by U.S. standards is shockingly low, but enough for them and their families to get by” (19). Going deeper than that, I consider that maybe the workers want the same opportunity for growth that the US had during its Industrial Revolution even if it means accepting the darker side of growth as well. Perhaps they, too, would like to ensure a better future for their grandchildren.
Obviously the effects of globalization on the garment industry in developing countries are complex. With this in mind, Timmerman defends his book’s ambivalence and says, “It’s easy to inspire pity and to cry sweatshop. What’s not easy is coming to terms with the context in which the factories and workers exist and initiating dialogue based on this. Not doing so is naïve” (235). Rather than choosing up sides, readers are asked to consider how their actions and discussions benefit the workers. Therefore, rather than making jokes at the expense of workers thousands of miles away, my “do something” could include shopping for clothes from companies known to be sweat shop free and educating other consumers, politicians, and, if given the opportunity, workers about the multi-faceted components effecting the industry. My “do something” will begin with recommending Where Am I Wearing. My “do something” will continue with the notion that just because it’s hard doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.