Nike Sweatshops - Never say Never

 

This a video posted to youtube by nikesweatshop depicting the state that workers for Nike are suffering through.  A comment on the video by zenmachinefilms says this,

 "I did advertising contract work for Nike a few years ago. This video is correct. They are like the worst excesses of Wall Street. Their goal is to make their already filthy rich CEO, board of directors and shareholders even more filthy rich.

Nike calls sweatshops "opportunity' and presents a false dilemma to support that. This isn't an either/or of either near-slave labor, or no work for these people. There are many other ways, despite what they'll tell you"  (Source drawn from Nikesteatshop. "YouTube - Nike Sweatshops - Never Say Never." YouTube - Broadcast Yourself. 19 Jan. 2009. Web. 08 Dec. 2010).

The Problem And the Solution

The problem with sweatshops is that they are pure exploitation of lower class workers by the upper classes.  These workers are paid anywhere from $0.26 to $0.44 an hour. Much of the time they are also forced to work overtime, 60-100 hour weeks are common in China. Many workers may only get one or two days off a month, sometimes less. Children start working in the sweatshops to help support their families when they are as young as 6 years old because an adult's salary is not enough to support the entire family.  Many companies ignore labor laws for fair treatment and prevention of child labor in order to get the biggest payday. 46%-75% of suppliers have been caught submitting false payroll records in the past four years. Only 20% comply with wage rules and 5% obey hour limitations.  Often times, there is no enforcement for the laws as suppliers pay inspectors more then the government that they work for (Source drawn from: Roberts, Dexter, and Pete Engardio. "Secrets, Lies, And Sweatshops." BusinessWeek - Business News, Stock Market & Financial Advice. 27 Nov. 2006. Web. 14 Dec. 2010.).


The only way to fight these cruelties is to get active in our own government to fight for rules and regulations.  There is near to no way to shop and avoid sweatshop labor.  We have to turn to those in power and demand that they require fair treatment and compensation for all workers.  The entire world also must unite under world labor unions to protect workers.  Just sitting by as we are now does nothing.

Graphs and Maps

"U.S. Students Help Win Great Victory for Sweatshop Garment Workers!" PROSECUTE THEM NOW! | • • • Saving Our World One American at a Time • • •. 18 Nov. 2009. Web. 13 Dec. 2010.

"Sweatshops in the Industrial Revolution." Sweatshops. Web. 13 Dec. 2010.

China Blue

This is an approximately 5 minute clip of the movie China Blue: a documentary on the lives of sweatshop workers. This movie, made in 2005 showed people a glimpse of where our jeans are made, and the lives of the people that make them.

Pictures

Here is a Korean child laborer working for technological company.

"#84 Child Labor « Stuff Asian People Like - Asian Central." Asian Central Social Network - For Asian-Fanatics, Travelers, Vacationers, Backpackers, and More! 29 July 2008. Web. 09 Dec. 2010.

This picture is of KYE Systems' workers in Dongguan, China.  They make computer objects such as keyboards, webcams, speakers for PCs (Source drawn from: Welcome to KYE Web. Web. 10 Dec. 2010.").  They live on site, work fifteen hour days, and have no bathroom breaks during their shifts.

Picture: "Microsoft And Chinese Sweatshops | IStockAnalyst.com." Stock Market Opinion and Analysis, Breaking News, Stocks Quotes, Earnings Estimates. 18 Apr. 2010. Web. 10 Dec. 2010.

Here is some of the Chinese workers who make Barbie toys for the Mattel company.  They work through 80 hour work weeks, twice as much as American "full time" workers.

Clark, Eric. "Mattel's Real Toy Story: Slave Labour in Sweatshops | Mail Online." Home | Mail Online. 16 Aug. 2010. Web. 10 Dec. 2010.

 

Pictured here is a protest group with the Playfair 2008, a group that was protesting at the Athens Olympic games against the use of sweatshop companies for Olympic products.

Sandborn, Tom. "The Tyee – Can Vancouver Fend off Olympics Sweatshops?" The Tyee – Home. 20 June 2007. Web. 10 Dec. 2010. 

 Pictured here are some of the 31 slave labourers who worked for a Chinese brickwork factory after their rescue.  They worked 20 unpaid hours with only bread and water given for their work.  Many suffered painful burns from the work, and eight of the workers came out so traumatized that only remembered their names.  The factory was located in the province Shanxi.

Bristow, Michael. "BBC NEWS | Asia-Pacific | 'Slaves' Rescued from China Firm." BBC News - Home. 8 June 2007. Web. 10 Dec. 2010.

Kenny Woo

Kenny Woo

My name is Kenny Woo, I am twenty years old and work alongside hundreds of thousands of other people in Taiwan, putting together Nike brand athletic gear. As a team, we are required to work seven days each week, and put in at least nine hours of work each day at a minimum-that is, if we meet our boss’ desired goal. 

In the area of Taiwan, there are groups of beat up buildings that house between forty to seventy-five workers on each floor, each building enclosing around four to ten floors. Each of the (floor) levels is very wide spread and the boards creaked with every step. The windows were usually huge with mismatched curtains of old fabric and there's the constant noise of the buzzing sewing machines, pressers, huge irons and snip snip snip. After months of working side by side for hours on end in the sticky, sweaty heat, we installed rather large and loud system of metal pipes all along the ceiling to help circulate and cool the air. This helped make a difference, but it’s nothing like what the States enjoy. In the back, near the staircases, located just before the steam of the irons are a group of aligned metal poles where they hang the finished clothing on, which resemble monkey bars.

Each and every one of us was assigned to a machine based solely on our skills. Some were great at sewing and went to the sewing machines, most all of us were on sewing machines and the stronger ones were in the back in charge of the ironing and pressing. The really skilled ones were titled "sample makers" as they were the ones who first make the whole clothing that everyone uses as a plan. They are keen experts in all aspects of the clothing development and are the go-to person when you have a problem. My mother is a sample maker in the very same factory as myself. Each machine is accompanied with a short desk, a metal table that contains their belongings like a big jar of water, their bag, snacks, possibly the daily newspaper and each one has their "blades" which are an incredibly sharp pair of scissors and able to snip fine lines on even the coarsest materials.

A day in the life consists of the sample maker and boss arriving at around eight to eight thirty in the morning, and everyone else coming at nine, sharp. The mornings always begin with workers full of chatter regarding the daily news and gossip. As we get to work, the machines are warmed up and at work until around noon where we have a lunch break. At lunch, we go to the kitchen area where there’s a fridge, table and an oversized rice cooker. There is one bathroom in its own room on the opposing side, just in case one of the thousands of us needed to use it. The constant buzzing of the machines would sound until four in the afternoon where people would chip in bits of their minimum wage to get a round of coffee (or tea) and buns during our break. Shortly after the break, we continue working until eight or nine at night. If a worker’s contract states eligibility, they can continue working until midnight to meet their deadline.

As workers, our pay also depended on the contract. Because most companies of course want the lowest price, our wages reflect that. A single article of clothing for example was made up consisting of different parts, each part worth a specific number of cents. A sleeve to a shirt was maybe a nickel or a dime each, the body part was a quarter, and pant legs a whopping fifteen cents each. On average, one worker can finish anywhere from forty to seventy clothing garments depending on their ability. This is where skill and quickness factory in, this job, can range from forty to seventy dollars each day.

Some days, my mother and I would skip breakfast to save money, but this behavior couldn’t be repeated for days on end. We have been working almost double time over this holiday season, waking up at five-thirty in the morning to warm up machines by six. This has been dreadfully tiring, but also an increase in pay, which balance out one another. I have two twin siblings, a brother and a sister, who my mother and I rarely get to see. It has been an every other year basis that we get time to travel twelve thousand miles by train to see them growing up as toddlers with my grandparents. It’s not an easy life here in Taiwan, China, but it’s what we have available to us, to provide the latest Nike gear for everyone.

Mr. Boss

It was still dark out as I rose out of my warm bed.  My wife’s figure stirred as the groaning of the springs woke her.  With a yawn I stomped to the bathroom to relieve myself.  I looked in our cracked mirror and gazed upon my weary face.

 I am plump like I always have been, but there is a drawn look now upon my features that was not there before the factory came here.  The dark bags beneath my eyes are now permanently etched there.  My wife comes into the bathroom behind me, so with a sigh I turn and stomp out. 

I go towards the kitchen, my dry feet scuffing along our floor.  I stop at my son’s room and peer in at his sleeping form.  He is sprawled across his entire bed, head and leg dangling of the side.  Looking at him, I see a boy at my factory.  The boy at my factory is small, skinny, and looks much like my son.  I don’t let my son work at the factory because I don’t want him to be as my workers are.  Seeing a child looking like him is painful enough as it is let alone having him work there as well. 

From the kitchen I hear the sizzle of my wife making breakfast.  With a sigh I haul my weight into the hallway and make my way towards the kitchen.  On the counter sits my lunch box, already prepared by my wife.  I slump down on a chair at the table, already dreading my long day.

My wife sets my breakfast before me, and I eat without enthusiasm.  I finish and as I stand, my large stomach bumps the table aside.  I grab my lunch box and leave the house on my way to work.  When I arrive it is dark and nobody is yet there.  The front door creaks open and I enter the musty building.  I feel my way blindly towards the light switch and flick them on.

The lights don’t do much against the pressing darkness but I can now see the shapes of all the machines.  Nike put this in many years ago and nothing has changed since.  I was originally appointed boss and it is still as thus.  The sewing machines have only acquired a more weathered look with the daily work they take.  A few of the creaky tables still bear the blood stains of the stupid children who sew their fingers into the products.  I paid dearly for those.

With a creaking of the door my sample maker enters and heads to her station.  She puts together the samples that my workers use when making the products.  She’s a stooped woman whose age I do not know.  Once the women started working here they all started looked old no matter their age.  I am glad my wife stays at home because I could not stand to see her wither like these women.

I head into my office to begin my paper work.  I see a letter that must have arrived after I left.  The letter is from the bosses in the United States demanding my workers hurry up.  We are behind two days on an order of pants because a child got her finger stuck in the sewing machine and bled all over a bunch of product.  I sent a letter to the bosses telling them what happened but they don’t care, they just want their product.

I look out my door of my office and see the workers have arrived so now the work begins.

**********************************************

It is now time for my lunch break.  My workers are almost finished with the pants order.  I had to yell much, but now they are working fast.  The little boy at the front table is still crying.  I cannot stand the work here.  I must be brutal to meet the orders, and in the brutality I am losing my humanity.

My workers of all ages work to the bone.  I know their payroll and it is next to nothing.  I am forced into cruelty to get the demands by those Americans done.  I don’t have the power to give my workers lunch and bathroom breaks because I have to meet the time quotas.  Our machines are all dangerous because we are not given the money to become up to date with modern technology.  These Americans are living in the year 2010, but our technology has us stuck in the 1990’s.

 And what power do I have to fix these problems?  None.  I have no power against the company.  The Americans give me their orders and I have to follow through.  The only thing I get is the ability to eat lunch.  It’s something I am forced to deprive my workers of but it is what I have.  It is all I can do against those Americans.

Jinhai

Hello, my name is Jinhai, and I'm 12 years old. Two days ago I was 11, but yesterday was my birthday. My mom used to say that out of all the birthdays in the world, mine was special, and that everyone in the world knew it. I know that's not true now, and after she died the luck my name "golden sea" was supposed to bring seemed cold and unhelpful. After my mom died I moved in with my uncle and aunt, they're very nice people, but we don't have much money. At first life was just as good here, even with the sadness from mom's death, but slowly my aunt turned bitter, I was a "leech." Every day they had less money and less money, and every day I knew it was my fault. At first I hadn't realized it, but unlike my aunt, my uncle hated me. After the first few days he began to tell me stories of how everyone in the family would starve to death because of me, and in fact how my mother had died because of me; he's lying I think, but it still hurts. I was so useless and so helpless, and about a year ago they made me ride my bike to the factory.

                I walked in through the front doors, nervous that I would fail, but I couldn't fail, everything was riding on this, and if I was going to live with them any longer, I was going to get a job here. I walked up to the front desk and asked the lady there about an interview, and as I stood on the cold cement floor a man came out and said hi. He didn't look nice, but he took my hand and brought me back down a hallway I looked back at the windows as the sunlight faded from view, and thought, "I will make you proud." We walked down stairs and through corridors taking lefts and rights until I could no longer remember how many there were. The sunlight had faded long ago, and artificial lighting lit every hallway; I was a little frightened, but we kept going and suddenly the last hallway opened up into a massive room. I heard a roaring noise and took a step back, the scent of burnt leather and salty sweat assaulted my nostrils, but I knew we had made.

"Here's where you will work" the old man said

"What, do I do?" I asked, watching as row after row of sewing machine spun.

"You create the jeans for everyone in the world."

That was the last time I talked to the old man, but I still remember that first look into the machine room. A room so full of perfect machines and people attached to them that lined up it must have reached halfway to Korea.

                My uncle wakes me up in the morning, 8:00 AM every day, giving me time for a bowl of rice and a glass of water, sometimes I even get two glasses. After that I mount my bike begin the ride from their farm into the city. I don't need to worry about signing in when I get there, because they know I'm always there on time. We all use the same machine every day, and that makes it easy to find mine. I sit down, and being putting together jeans for the all the countries in the entire world. Sometimes the overseer walks by, but he never looks at me, and although he hits other people that make mistakes, I must never have made a mistake. He doesn't stand near me long and if he does look he looks sad. I wonder about him sometimes, but the machines are more important, and if you lose focus for a second you could lose an arm; I saw Limanchu lose two of the fingers on his left hand. After work is complete I ride my bike home and arrive just in time for a dinner at 3:00 AM and eat another bowl of rice, then I sleep for the four hours left to me, and ready myself for the next day.

                Sometimes I wonder if I'll work here for my whole life; I don't think I want to live like this. I used to dream that I would walk out of the factory one day and someone would pull up in their shiny car, and pull me out of this life, that one day I would be famous, and instead of working in a factory I'll be freeing people from the factory. When I'm older I want to be a musician, and create music for everyone to hear. I want to tell stories in my songs, and maybe I'll make the rhythm that the world dances to, but maybe just maybe the rhythm I make will sound just like a sewing machine, and maybe just maybe I will be the one listening to someone else play music. I really hope I can make music one day.

Liu Kang

                                                               

               My arms and legs hurt just as much as they did yesterday. My bed is a firm cot which is not very comfortable. Breakfast today consists of a little rice and a cup of water, less than yesterday’s breakfast.  My tattered pants barely keep the bugs away anymore and I grew out of my shirt months ago. My clothes are all I have. My parents also work here in Taiwan, we are very poor. When I turned ten my parents told me I had to start working in the sweatshop with them so we could make more money. The sun is rising; it’s time to get back to work.

                In the sweatshop I have to work at the sewing machines. The boss man said I have “nimble fingers” and I would be perfect for the job. At first I thought he would be a nice man. I heard him yelling about the Americans while I was in the bathroom; I hope he doesn’t take it out on us today. I’ve only been yelled at once but it was scary. My sewing machine broke and I had to stop working, it wasn’t my fault but he yelled at me anyway.

                I didn’t understand why they called this place a sweatshop until I started working here. Even in the winter I find myself sweating in here. There’s no ventilation where we work and it gets very hot and stuffy. We created a system of metal pipes to try and get some airflow in the work area. It’s not much but it helps.  Today is an easy day for me, only ten hours. I need to work fast though, there’s an order of pants we’ve been working on all week that needs to get done today. If we don’t get it done I’m afraid we’ll get yelled at.

                As I run the pants through the sewing machine I can feel it starting to jam up again. I’m just trying to finish my stack of pants as quickly as I can and I’m praying that the machine holds up. I’m working on one of the last sets of pants when the machine breaks. My heart sunk because I knew I would have to go to the boss to get a replacement. As I was about to go ask the boss for help he called for everyone’s attention and yelled at us about working too slow. I could feel myself start to shake. I went up to him and asked him nicely if I could get a replacement for the sewing machine. He looked angry when he heard the news. He yelled at me in front of everyone and I started to cry. I tried to tell him it wasn’t my fault but he just walked away and told me I had to buy a new sewing machine. I cried even harder knowing that it would take me months to be able to pay back the money for a new sewing machine.

                Someday I hope to make enough money to leave this place. Many others here have the same dream but I haven’t seen many leave. The thought of leaving and having a better life is the only thing that keeps me working anymore. It’s not great but perhaps this is my lot in life.