9-8-00
"Menstrual Leave"
I've procrastinated in writing this particular entry, because I wasn't sure how to broach this subject, as it is a very sensitive issue. Tim Connor from NikeWatch spent March and April of 2000 conducting research in Indonesia. In his report, "Like Cutting Bamboo", he cites evidence of intimidating and humiliating physical examinations that women working in Nike factories are routinely put through in order to claim the menstrual leave to which they are legally entitled. He asked if I could explore this issue in more depth during our stay in Tangerang. What I discovered was absolutely appalling.
Indonesian law states that every woman is entitled to two days unpaid menstrual leave per month. Anticipating that some might ask, "How can these women justify taking 2 days off from work simply because they are menstruating?" I posed the question to several female and male workers, labor organizers, and student activists. The consensus was that the menstrual leave legislation wasn't necessarily drafted for women with office jobs or other positions that are not physically demanding. The two optional menstrual leave days are believed to be aimed at the tens of thousands of factory workers who cannot freely go to the restroom throughout the day, cannot afford pads and pain medication, have mandatory overtime, and work 10-15 hour days on a regular basis, sometimes standing for the duration, just to survive.
The procedure to take menstrual leave in Nike's subcontracted factories is plagued with a degree of fear and humiliation that is so severe, most women would rather suffer than take the days off. The reality of the situation is as follows. First, the worker approaches her line chief. If the line chief gives permission, she can approach the foreman. If the foreman gives permission, she can approach the management. After making her way through this management hierarchy, the worker must go to the factory clinic and prove that she is menstruating. She must do this by pulling down her pants and showing blood to the clinic staff. She cannot take the menstrual leave that she is entitled to by law without going through this degrading process. As you can imagine, not many workers ask for the days off. With workers not taking days off, the assembly line is fully staffed, quotas are reached more quickly, and the factory provides for its contractor most efficiently.
This intrusive procedure of proving one is menstruating does not happen every month for every worker, but it does happen. Several of the women workers we interviewed, as well as the organizers we spoke with said it does not happen more frequently because the workers are too scared to even ask to go to the clinic.
"Like Cutting Bamboo" quotes a worker from Nike's PT Nikomas Gemilang factory saying, "The workers can't just leave like that, they have to go to the clinic and get proof…If they don't prove, they can't take [leave]." The same worker spoke of how the pressure to achieve work deadlines translates into workers being unable to take the menstrual leave they are guaranteed by Indonesian law. "Some workers are [also] afraid to take leave because they have to achieve the target and if they don't achieve the target the supervisor will get mad. A woman who takes menstruation leave will be hated by the supervisor. Very few workers take it."
Not only are the female factory workers intimidated in asking for the menstrual leave days they are entitled to, but most women are even afraid to ask to go to the bathroom. There is pressure to meet quotas and fear to not "get on the bad side" of your supervisor. The majority of workers know that simply asking permission to use the bathroom will usually result in their supervisor yelling at them even more. Some insults that workers reported were shouted at them include "bitch", "cow", or "pig" and sarcastic statements like "Why don't you just go back to your village?" This intimidating humiliation combined with the workers' apprehension, commonly results in women bleeding through their clothes every month.
Tens of thousands of women go to work knowing they are going to bleed through their clothes for the first two days of their period every single month. For those two days, they will wear dark pants and a long blouse so the stain on their clothes is less noticeable when they walk home from the factory. Some women said that despite wearing two pads because of the long hours in between bathroom breaks, they still bleed through their clothes.
Nike workers have only 2 bathroom breaks per day. The ratio of toilets to workers varies not only from factory to factory, but between sections within the same factory. In one factory we researched there were 5 toilets for 2000 workers, 6 toilets for 500 workers, 9 toilets for 1000 workers, and 3 toilets (2 of which were broken) for 350 workers. Workers in that factory also said there is always a line for the bathroom, and there is never enough clean water for the toilets. A shortage of clean water with regards to an Asian toilet is tantamount in the Western world to a toilet that doesn't flush properly, lacks toilet paper, and lacks running water to appropriately wash one's hands.
Union organizers and Indonesian student activists told us that it's not only in Nike factories where these conditions exist, but also in factories producing apparel for the Gap, Old Navy, Tommy Hilfiger, Adidas, Fila, Reebok, and Polo to name a few.
One Adidas factory worker we interviewed told a story that happened to her recently. She began menstruating at work and had not brought any feminine supplies with her. She asked her supervisor if she could go to the bathroom. He denied her request and yelled at her to keep working. She asked two other times, and each time her supervisor ignored her request. Three hours later, when she had bled through her clothes onto her chair, her supervisor approached her, threw an unwrapped pad onto her workstation, and in front of all her co-workers, sarcastically said, "You can go to the bathroom now if you need to."
Another worker was asked to pull down her pants and show that she had blood on the pad in order to be sent home for menstrual leave. When she told the clinic "nurse" that it is against her religion to expose these parts of her body, the nurse replied she would not be allowed to take the menstrual leave unless she proved she was menstruating. She had just gone to the bathroom before going to the clinic and therefore, there was no blood on the pad. The clinic nurse called her a liar, and told her to go back to work. The next morning she returned to the clinic to show the nurse she was menstruating. She said she was not there to take menstrual leave, but instead to prove she was not a liar.
During the month we spent in Tangerang, I became close with a number of female factory workers, but I did not learn of this egregious violation until soon before we left. It is never mentioned. With one group of women, it took a good half hour of encouragement and asking all the men to leave the room, before they felt it even possible to talk about this issue. Even then, they were embarrassed and ashamed. Some said they felt it was their fault and rationalized the situation by saying it occurred because they are labor organizers or because they are women. Though they knew that they needed to talk about this in order for change to come about.
This degrading treatment violates human dignity on many levels. It is a blatant breach of Articles 5, 7, 18 and 23 of the United Nation's Universal Declaration of Human Rights. It is also in violation of the UN's Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women. Nike's labor practices, cultivated in an environment of fear and domination arguably constitute abuse and amount to violence against women.
Along with these violations of human dignity, the process to receive menstrual leave is in violation of religious beliefs. A number of the women I interviewed who were asked to pull down their pants to prove they were menstruating, were young Muslim women. These are women who wear long sleeved blouses, pants or long skirts, and headdresses tightly covering their hair and neck everyday. The only skin they reveal outside of their home and in the presence of men is their face, hands, and feet. This is their cultural reality. Despite this, the free medical clinic that Nike touts on it's website delivers an ultimatum to these female workers: pull down your pants and prove you're menstruating or you're not allowed the leave guaranteed you by Indonesian law.
This is the environment of fear and injustice that is created by multinational corporations concerned solely with maximizing profits. An environment where tens of thousands of women bleed through their clothes every month because they associate greater pain with asking permission to go to the bathroom than with sitting in clothes saturated with blood.
What You Can Do Now!!
8-20-00
We had a great interview with the workers from Lintas. They were more educated about their rights than any other workers we have met and therefore were less fearful of speaking with us. Something I haven't mentioned is that the majority of interviews we've conducted have been with labor organizers. They are leaders of the masses, and they are still deathly afraid (rightfully so) to discuss their reality. And for every labor organizer we've spoken with there are thousands of workers so petrified that they wouldn't even entertain the idea of speaking with us.
The climax of the interview was our reiterating questions that we've heard countless times in the U.S., in a tone mirroring the attitude of the people that have asked them. These questions are from the people who refuse informative flyers from leafletters. Questions from people who show in their facial contortions and exaggerated sighs how disgusted they really are that you're trying to hand them a flyer. Questions like, "How can you be forced to work in a Nike factory? Is someone holding a gun to your head?" "If this is such a bad job, why don't you go get another one?" "We gave you these jobs, we set this factory up here, we're putting money into your economy, we're giving you the opportunity to work, what else do you want?"
The condescending tone of the questions transcended the language barrier. There was a devastating look of hurt on the workers' faces even before Leily translated. It was a painful labor that gave birth to the raw Truth. The fear subsided, and their pent up anger burst. Their expressions and gestures were like an old Italian grandmother who was downright pissed. These women exploded, and they commanded the room with their spirit. They told about how they feel like slaves. How they couldn't possibly survive without putting in 15-20 hours of overtime each week. How they can't just "get another job", because they'll have to go through trainings, take a pay cut for the first year and possibly longer, and basically won't be able to survive. How Indonesia's economic and political situation forces them to accept these jobs, and Nike takes advantage of this situation. Their account was the most riveting session I have experienced yet. And it's all on video.
8-18-00
Do you ever think critically about what it is you're defending? Tammy Rodriguez at Nike headquarters in Jakarta obviously knows what her company's policy is on "Labor Practices in Indonesia", their "Code of Conduct", and even "Jim Keady". She knows it and she can regurgitate it very accurately and articulately (aside from when a camera is taping her every word for a documentary on human rights abuse). But in the "down" times when she's not presenting it or warding off three Americans who want to see the inside of a disclosed factory, does she question what it is she is defending?
When I first began to question labor practices of companies whose merchandise I bought, I would pointedly ask retail managers if they knew where the clothing they sold was being made. Without fail, employees would defend their company vigorously. Some even went to the extreme of viewing questions about their employer's corporate responsibility as a personal attack. I saw this in Tammy, but there was also a slight sense of humanity that emerged once the camera was turned off. I wonder what her thoughts were when we left, aside from relief.
Tammy, like most others in Nike management, is just a pawn is in this game. She defends Nike's practices because that's what she's paid to do. Although Nike doesn't give her a multimillion-dollar salary, they apparently pay her enough to stand guard and fend off "activists" while the rest of the core unit accumulates wealth exponentially. Tammy doesn't make the decisions about Nike's labor practices, but she does make a decision to support the exploitation of millions of people. Every day she wakes up, puts her suit on, and goes to work for Nike, she's making a decision to defend an unjust situation, and thus, to continue the oppression.
8-16-00
Today, we met for the second time with the Nike shoe factory workers from the KMK (KMJ) factory. By this time they had read our project proposal, which we had translated into Bahasa Indonesian. They were slightly more willing to talk, but still paralyzed with fear.
All responses to our questions took the same shape. First the workers would talk objectively about their experiences, still unsure that vocalizing their grievances would benefit them in the long run. Then a combination of anger, frustration, and hurt would boil over, and they would speak furiously with deliberate hand gestures about the injustices in their situations. Then abruptly, the emotions simmered into a dull hopelessness. It was as if a little red devil appeared on their right shoulders appealing to their fears, whispering reminders of all possible negative consequences. "Your quota will go down, and you need the money from overtime…" "What if the factory finds out you spoke with these people? It's might not be worth it. You've survived up till now…" "They might move the factory, then what would you do?"
A few of the Nike workers we interviewed were worker representatives for the Global Alliance. Global Alliance (www.theglobalalliance.com) is an initiative co-founded by Nike. It's a partnership of businesses, public and non-profit organizations whose goal is to involve local NGOs in the assessment of workplace conditions through interviews, focus groups, and surveys of the workers themselves. If you visit their website, Global Alliance sounds like the savior of the worker's struggle. It's as if Nike and the Gap (both members of GA) finally figured out that the workers who make their apparel have been struggling for their family's survival and now that it's dawned on them, they really do want to make a difference. Their hearts have been opened and they want to help the good people of Indonesia sustain their environment, build their economy and send their children to school. They're going to identify worker aspirations and workplace issues. They are going to assess the needs of the individual worker and the community. They're going to focus on education opportunities, vocations skill training and life skills development such as financial management, assertiveness, leadership, and parenting skills. How absolutely fabulous for the workers!
What Global Alliance is NOT going to do is give the workers more money, which is the one thing every single one of them wants. While it's wonderful on paper to think about the future of Indonesia with community needs assessments, higher education, and inquiries on worker aspirations, none of the workers have asked for this. Not one worker has asked for skills training so they could be more marketable when they move on from their Nike assembly-line job. No one I've spoken with has asked for ways to be a better parent. They've asked for more money to feed their children.
The workers we met with said they didn't trust the Global Alliance because they didn't trust Nike. It was no surprise that they feel they can't be honest in GA interviews or they might lose their jobs. The last worker we spoke with at the KMK factory summed it up best. He said in broken English that the Global Alliance initiative was simply "a Nike trick".
8-14-00
We've entered a new phase of the project. The energy reserve that I had for the first two weeks is depleted. Each day is a struggle. Of the foods and drink I can afford, nothing is appealing to me at the moment. Not surprisingly, I got sick. I have a headache, a fever, nausea and my lungs feel like I've been chain-smoking Marlboro Reds while sitting in front of a Mack truck's exhaust pipe.
I spent the majority of today in bed. Translation: I spent the majority of today lying on a paper-thin reed mat on an uneven cement floor covered in shelf paper. I self-diagnosed the beginnings of Dengue Fever, Malaria, or Typhoid, from Lonely Planet's three-sentence summaries. All the feelings of entitlement that have ever coursed through my veins awakened. There was no way in hell I was going to stick to this starvation wage. I was sick. This didn't count. I was going to get what I needed and just… not count it. Project time was on hold indefinitely. How could I not get juice and medicine? This is what I NEEDED!
I started walking out the door, headed for the corner store where I would get what I could to make me feel somewhat better. Feeling guilty and blatantly looking for validation, I shouted out to my project team, "You think this is OK, don't you? I mean, I'm SICK." The response: "It's your call. (pregnant pause) What would Fitri do?"
What would Fitri do? Fitri my new best friend? My new soul sister? Fitri who lives in a box in a poor, dirty, overcrowded neighborhood in the Adidas factory ‘prison complex'. What would Fitri do? I don't know, but I think she'd actually go to work. Though if she could take the day off, I suppose she'd be in that one small, smelly, congested room she shares with two other women…lying on a paper-thin reed mat on an uneven cement floor covered in shelf paper, without the money to buy what she really needed. And she wouldn't have a choice.
This was the greatest test yet — when I absolutely felt like forgetting about the poverty simply because I could. I wanted fresh orange juice, toast, cherry-flavored cough drops and Tylenol. I had a small "juice box" of orange drink, one dose of Tylenol, and lots of water. Three gulps of orange drink was 2500 rupiah, or about 30% of the daily food allowance living on this basic wage. Two Tylenol was the same price. I could afford one meal at the cheapest place we've found yet, and that was it for the day. A small vitamin-less orange drink, 2 Tylenol, and one meal of rice and vegetables.
This is what I came here for. To live in solidarity with the poor and exploited. To experience the injustice here and tell it in my language to my tribe who CAN make changes because of opportunities they've been given. To take the American-born opportunities and privileges that my ancestors struggled for, and now use them for people still struggling. I can tell you this from the depths of my soul, with more passion than ever before: No one should have to live like this. We need to make serious changes. And everyone is responsible.
In the next few weeks, we'll be posting a section on what you can do in this struggle for justice. Please do your part.
8-13-00
What struck me most about the interview with Nike workers from the KMJ factory was the fear. The workers are so desperately poor and so completely instilled with fear, that the possibility of losing their job is nothing less than catastrophic. It's the difference between having a bad job that meets less than your basic needs, and having no job and a starving family. There is the valid fear of discrimination, harassment, or termination if they are found speaking to us. There was the fear that we were Nike's competitors, secret agents for Adidas, Reebok, or Fila, trying to get Nike factory information. And there was the fear that they would be hurting themselves in the long run if they were honest. The logic to that catch-22 being that in our publicizing the inhumane conditions of the factory and the truth of the workers' exploitation, Nike's sales might decline, and the workers would have less of a quota. Less of a quota equals less overtime, which mean just one thing: not enough money to feed their children.
Every single worker we've spoken with has said that it's not possible to survive on the basic wage without significant overtime. I'm living on the basic wage right now (just one person) and I can eat only one meal if I want to buy a necessity like soap. The most fear-filled scenario for the workers is that Nike would move the factory to Vietnam or China where the cost of labor is even cheaper. The bottom-line here is that the Nike machine is fueled by fear.
We met with two workers in their house (a place I would assume they feel most comfortable), without management listening to what they say, without direct peer pressure, and having been introduced to us by someone they trust. We tried repeatedly to make them understand that if they weren't honest about their working and living conditions, we couldn't advocate for them. After an hour of interviewing, with circuitous answers void of emotion, they finally began to believe that we were there in their best interest, not connected in any way with Nike or Nike competitors. It took these circumstances for the workers to merely begin to discuss their reality. How in the world does Price Waterhouse Coopers, as an "independent monitor" interviewing workers who are facing the possibility of retribution on so many different levels, extract any truth of the workers' reality from the layers of fear encasing it.
Answer: They don't.
 |
| Our hostess Fitri cooks dinner. |
8-12-00
The three Adidas workers we met the other day invited us to dinner at their house. Their small neighborhood was identical to that of the Nike workers we had visited. Same cramped living space. Same narrow dirt alleyways. Same rows of single-room houses that look more like storage spaces than homes. Same desperate poverty.
Fitri was obviously thrilled to be hostess for the night, though she was equally embarrassed about her meager living situation. She, her two roommates, and 3 other families share a kitchen/laundry area (see picture) and a bathroom that's approximately the size of a small stall in a public restroom in America. We could see the factory towering over the neighborhood where the workers live. It resembled a prison complex. These workers put in 60+ hours per week and can only afford to live in conditions that are more cramped and confined than any American homeless shelter, halfway house, rehab, or prison I've ever visited. Even by Indonesian standards this is horrendous.
I've established personal friendships with Fitri, Sri, and Yani. They've come to calling me "Kakak Leslie", which is an endearing term for "older sister". When no men are around, they become absolutely relaxed, carefree, and even goofy. They explode into hearty, belly laughs that bring you to tears, even if you don't know what you're laughing at. They were so excited to talk about America, Hollywood movie stars, romance and pop culture. They wanted to talk about their families, boyfriends, and marriage. They wanted me to try on their jilbab (Muslim headdress) and take pictures. And although these 3 women could barely fit in the cement cube they call home, they asked if I wanted to ‘sleep over'.
Every so often Fitri would say, "this house is so small" or "this house is smelly." We awkwardly tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, but the truth was obvious and ugly. I wanted to tell her I would send money from the U.S. every month and pay for a better "rent house". I wanted to tell her to quit her job and I'd raise money to send her to school. I wanted to essentially "fix" her life so she would be happy and I (selfishly) wouldn't feel guilty. But all this would be is charity, and charity is a temporary Band-Aid for a problem that needs a major operation.
8-10-00
We've been approaching this project as factory workers who have recently come to Tangerang to work in a Nike factory. We've given ourselves what the workers would bring with them, and are trying to buy what we can on the basic wage, trying to make this project as consistent with their reality as possible. We've found that the workers would normally arrive with their "papers" documenting their identity and high school diploma, some clothes, and if they're lucky, a small amount of money. When a worker comes from their village, they would usually eat meals from street vendors until they could afford some basic cooking necessities. Today, we priced out toiletries and household items that workers would typically use. The most shocking cost for me was one small bowl for 3500 rupiah, or a third of their day's wages. That doesn't include the 50, 000 rupiah cooking stove, or cooking fuel, or even the rice itself.
When we came back to the house, we had unexpected visitors waiting. Three young Muslim women who make Adidas footwear heard we were in town, and wanted to bring us their stories. One 21-year-old woman was a labor organizer, and although she had just worked a full day and fasted since sunrise for religious ritual cleansing, she took two buses to meet us for one hour because it was, she said, "her duty".
These three women went on to describe a situation almost exactly like that of the Nike workers. They are paid the same starvation wage. They face the same demanding quotas. And at the end of the day, broken down with exhaustion, they don't have enough money for their basic needs. When they were little girls, they dreamt of being a doctor, an archeologist, and a policewoman. At 21 years of age, they've given up on their dreams, and faced "their reality" –working for survival.
After a great interview, we walked the women outside, where, by culture, everyone leaves their shoes. One woman crouched down and picked up Mike's Adidas sneaker. Her fingers lightly grazed the stitching. I was taken back by the care in her touch. She began speaking quickly in Bahasa Indonesian. Through Leily's translating, we found that the woman was pointing to the stitching she had made with her own hands, and those parts of that exact shoe that the other 2 women had made. They had made these shoes.
The scene and the emotions it stirred for me are burned deep into my memory. Mike's journal entry gives the play by play account, and a great description of what I call his ‘conversion'. I can add only what I experienced in the sweet tension of the moment. This tiny Indonesian woman's face, wise beyond her 21 years, examined the shoe as an artist would her finest work. It was all so surreal. I zoned out of the situation and seemed to fall into her eyes. It was like I stumbled upon the portal to her mind, in a ‘Being John Malkovitch' sort of way. Her eyes held the sum of the pain of every oppressed worker, of every person dehumanized and exploited, of every woman whose work is unacknowledged, unappreciated, and undervalued. Looking at her eyes, I heard her voice in my mind, saying slowly and emphatically: "Look at this. See this stitching right here? I made that. I made that with my own blood, sweat, and tears. Every time you wear these shoes, remember my struggle. Remember ME. The least you can do is remember me".
8-9-00
I don't really feel like writing. I'm tired, mostly tired of being hungry. Tired of seeing things I can't afford as well. I'm running out of adjectives to describe how bad the situation is here. There's only so many ways you can say it, and I feel like a broken record already: It's horrible. It's terrible. It's outrageous. It's laughable. It's ridiculous. It's devastating. It's cruel. It's mind-blowing. It's another world. It's injustice.
We've gotten some good feedback for the website, which is helping to sustain my hope. Though I struggle daily with the good that will come from this work. When we're finished starving here, and there's no daily journal to read or photo of the day to see, will the general public still care about the fight these workers face every day? Will they, or rather, will you do anything to change this situation?
In a recent interview, one 22-year old shoe factory worker asked us: "But what is it that you are going to do? Journalists interview us, they write about our situation. People like you have come and gone… but still nothing changes."
8-8-00
I take responsibility for the Dunkin Donuts' splurge. I just couldn't have rice, vegetables and water one more time. That's all we've been eating for our 2 meals each day, if you can call them meals. The servings are roughly the size of an appetizer in a nice restaurant. That's all we can afford on a workers'basic wage. I'm dreaming of broccoli and cheese pizza, my mother's roasted peppers, Katz bagels with pesto-garlic cream cheese, and Mini-Wheats with rice milk.
I actually thought we might be able to afford both the doughnut and a simple meal. How pathetic that a doughnut is the same price as an ordinary meal for a factory worker. I couldn't even entertain the idea of ordering coffee as well. It's unreal. This "luxury" (and it definitely felt like one at the time) of one small stale doughnut is 1/5 of the worker's daily wage. It's so ridiculous it's almost laughable. But sitting with these human beings, hearing their stories, and knowing that this is their reality, eradicates any potential humor.
While reading a book on non-violence during the little free time I have, I came across a great quote from Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "Letter from Birmingham Jail". His powerful words transcend time and space.
Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in the inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.
8-7-00
It had to devastate Sobirin that the only way he could afford to bring his 4 year-old sick daughter to the clinic, was if 3 Americans paid for it. He seemed a bit quieter and more reserved than usual today. Susanti was freshly bathed, hair combed into a tiny ponytail on the top of her head. Both were dressed in what a grandparent might call their "Sunday best". I could sense his emptiness, something I hadn't detected before. It didn't take me long to realize it was the theft of his human dignity.
The clinic was dirty. The doctor's office smelled stagnant. The security guard sat glumly, smoking cigarette after cigarette. The exam and medicine came to 90, 000 rupiah or 9 days wages. Nine days wages that a worker would need to have up front, because the only health care package available is in a reimbursement format. After speaking to dozens of workers, I have yet to meet one with even a day's wages saved. The consensus has been that frequently a worker and her/his family must skip a meal(s) just to get by. It's disturbing enough in theory. In reality, hearing a doctor tell a father his daughter is malnourished, is brutal.
While we were waiting to see the doctor, there was a couple arguing in the "waiting room" (an outdoor patio covered by an awning). Leily translated what they said, they didn't have enough money to buy their child's medicine. The husband was telling the wife to take it back into the pharmacy, which was attached to the clinic. The wife was embarrassed and refused. They sat arguing, then sat silent, staring off into the distance. Arguing then staring off into the distance. Again, the theft of human dignity.
As I meet more and more workers barely surviving, I'm feeling angrier and angrier about Nike's wage disparity. Not only am I feeling anger with the Nike machine, and other multinational corporations for paying their workers less and less. I'm angry with those people who accept wages they didn't earn. No one can logically argue that top management truly earn thousands per day. No one can tell me that Tiger Woods earns over two hundred U.S. dollars per minute. The gap is growing, and it's unfair. Today, it was more evident than ever before. These corporations have nothing left to take from these workers but their lives. And if they could figure out a way to make a profit from doing that, they probably would.
8-6-00
I am hungry, tired, have been living on a dollar a day for a week now, and despite this, I am still nowhere near completely understanding what it must be like to be a Nike factory worker.
Try on these shoes: You are a 20-something adult working 8am to 8pm, Monday through Saturday and sometimes Sunday, that doesn't include travel time or preparing yourself for work. You don't have the money to go out with your friends on Saturday night and celebrate someone's birthday. You don't have the money to buy a television or even a radio. You haven't bought yourself something new to wear in over 2 years. When you get home at the end of the day, you have to spend a good 30-45 minutes doing your laundry by hand. You need to do laundry frequently, because you don't have many clothes, and whatever you wear (depending on the color and how bad you sweat) is visibly dirty at the end of the day.
You have a child who has no toys. Your child is malnourished, even after you put in 12 hours a day at the factory. Because of the malnourishment, your child is more susceptible to illness. On top of that, your child has nowhere to play except for dirt streets and garbage dumps. There's a cesspool running throughout your neighborhood, where rats, dirty cats, roosters and chickens wallow. You don't have the money to move to a better location. You don't make enough to save money to one day move to a better location. You have debt. You don't have enough money to take your child to the doctor. You don't have enough money to buy cough medicine. A real treat would be buying a small loaf of bread. You're constantly inhaling serious car pollution (lax inspection laws if any) and the nauseatingly sweet stench of plastic burning.
You're exhausted. You can feel the tired in your bones. You're afraid that if you speak up, you'll lose your job. And the multinational company you work for is telling the world that they've made serious changes, and consumers need not worry. You're 100% happy.
 |
| Toilets in Tangerang drain into a moat of sludge that runs on both sides of every street, |
8-5-00
Three nights ago, I had a dream that we left the door open and one of the nasty 8- inch rats came creeping into the house, like the 3-inch cockroaches do occasionally during the day.
Two nights ago, as I sat on the floor with the door open, I heard a rustling noise coming from our garbage can a few feet away. I looked over and saw little beady eyes glowing in the darkness. I don't know which scared the damn thing more, my slamming the door or my violent screaming.
Last night, asleep on my bed mat, I awoke to what sounded like a herd of little feet scampering above my head. Mice in the ceiling. I had a hunger-induced panic attack at 3 am that one was going to eat through the styrofoam and land on my head. In the midst of these thoughts, I came to the conclusion that the town where we're living is simply one big sewer. All of the toilets in Tangerang drain into a moat of sludge that runs on both sides of every street. Wooden planks bridge doorsteps of the houses and businesses with the street. The result of this low-budget plumbing system is this plague of rats and cockroaches (not to mention other living things with severely mutated DNA).
For the next hour I laid awake thinking what life would be like if I had no alternative but to raise my children here. The thought alone of children playing near cesspools is so absolutely disturbing. I see it every day. No human being should have to live like this. It's cruel.
Is there a way out of this cruelty? Possibly. A living wage. With a living wage, children would be in school during the day, away from this squalor. They would be learning, not just surviving. This education would lead to change in their communities and change for the future of Indonesia. This would be true economic development, unlike the "development" I described above that Nike and other multinational corporations have inflicted on the children of Indonesia.
8-3-00
Nowhere to go…
Today marked the first day of our living on sweatshop wages. It was also a day of initial breakdowns for each of us due to lack of food, personal space, and the most basic of comforts. The living conditions alone are so oppressive, that I imagine working at least 12 hours a day, 6 days a week must be torturous.
There is no place to retreat here, in Tangerang. I don't say this lightly. As a person who collects energy from time spent alone, I'm struggling with the feeling of being "trapped" in close quarters with people all day long. I want so badly to have a room or a small yard or a simple quiet space other than the bathroom where I can be alone and regroup / refocus.
Where do you go to regroup when your entire family lives in one single room? In a row of tin-roofed, dank rooms nonetheless. What do you do when there's no open space to stroll through other than garbage dumps. How do you maintain your privacy when you're sharing a communal bathroom, with 10 other families? No money to take the bus anywhere, nor time to do so. These are not exaggerations but the heinous reality I've experienced in the last 2 days. On top of that, it's 90 degrees and humid, I have a heat rash, a growing number of itchy mosquito bites, and my entire body is covered in a film of Skin-so-soft scented dirt. All of this got to me. I ended up sitting in a cement corner behind our living space balling my eyes out.
From this experience I feel even more strongly about the need for personal space. Regardless of economic class, everyone needs their regular alone time. It should be included on the list of basic human needs.
My day one conclusion of what can be bought on a daily wage of one U.S. dollar will be brief. For a 26 year old woman with no children or impoverished family to send money to (a rarity), I would be able to afford rent, electricity, transportation to and from work only, and 2 inexpensive meals (i.e. plate of rice and small bowl of vegetables). Bottom-line: it's absolutely not enough money. I have yet to buy basic necessities, like soap, much to the chagrin of my project team.
8-1-00
I've been having a difficult time beginning my online journal. Since I left the U.S., I've been mulling over which is the lesser of two evils: mildly describing the reality of Indonesia in hopes of placating the fears of my family and friends, or vividly describing what I experience, risking their constant worry for my safety. I feel paralyzed by this internal struggle.
The car bomb exploding two days ago at the Philippine embassy shook us all up a bit. Everyone that is, except for our translator/guide Leily, who considers such an event normal and even inevitable. Of course something like this could easily occur in New York or San Francisco, but it didn't, it happened here. And I was two blocks away from it.
I mention my close proximity to the blast with painful hesitation. I can just imagine the look of worry on my parents' faces as they read this. My instinct would have me euphemistically sugarcoat the experience for the sake of their mental health. But my gut feeling is that I owe it to the people of Indonesia to be brutally honest about their reality. In the next 5 weeks, I hope to strike an effective balance between the two.
After a few chaotic days in Jakarta, we arrived in the village we'll call "home" for the remainder of this phase of the project. As I walked along the red clay paths lined with the homes of the poor, my thoughts continuously returned to what it must feel like living in these conditions with no alternative. What it must be like to live next to an open sewer. To have the chickens that lay the eggs necessary for your survival pecking through these open sewers. To work 80+ hours per week on a line void of variation and creativity and still not be able to afford to send your children to school. To be those children who live and play beside the open sewer, who rarely see their parents who work day and night, who ache to go to school and exercise their minds… who simply want a chance.
It's so completely unfair and overwhelming that I'm numb to their reality at the moment. I will for this short time share in the toxic pollution, the fear of violence and the experience of "living" on slave wages. When I return to the U.S., I'll continue advocating for the workers… there's just so much work to be done.
|
