There’s a point in Mike Daisey’s theatrical monologue “The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs,” where my heart felt particularly laden. No it wasn’t the story about the old man who injured his hand making an Apple iPad, a metal machine crushing his fingers into some grotesque circular ball. (He was later fired because he couldn’t do his work on the assembly line fast enough.) Nor was it at the beginning of the piece when Daisey landed at the gates of FoxConn, the largest electronics manufacturer in China where 50% of all electronic products in the world are made, and spoke to a few workers many of whom were under age 15. Nor was it was the time that he spoke to a female assembly line worker who had been fired and listed as a “trouble maker,” after she complained to China’s labor board about her working conditions. These incidents, while tragic, didn’t move me. Let me explain.
My life is strife. Well, it’s to document and cover strife to be exact. I’ve spent the better part of eight years traveling the globe listening to the many horrors that men inflict upon others from religious war and conflict, to rape, child sexual abuse and Christian persecution. More than 18 years covering the world’s ills gives you a sort of Teflon immunity of the kind that makes your friends wonder if you’re “working too hard,” and your boyfriends question whether you have “feelings”. Yes, the wall around my heart, built sturdy like a Georgia outhouse, keeps all the bad stuff in and maintains a beautiful exterior.
But there’s a point in this piece, done beautifully by Lance Baker, as a benefit program for the Red Orchid Theatre in Chicago’s Old Town neighborhood that my outhouse began to crumble.
My breakdown happened when I saw the nets.
Soft and ethereal, barely visible the nets were hung around every building at the Fox Conn plant in May of 2010 after 17 of its 435,000 workers committed suicide within six months. The flying bodies were the first indication that something wasn’t right in paradise.
Previously, American companies such as Dell, Apple and Sony had described Fox Conn, as some sort of manufacturing Disneyland. The massive mass production industrial complex in Taiwan’s Longhua, Guangdong province, boasted pools, workers private dormitories, massive cafeterias and movie theaters. For years that’s the way Steve Jobs and his ilk wanted others to think about Fox Conn’s factories.
You go in this place and it’s a factory but, my gosh, they’ve got restaurants and movie theatres and hospitals and swimming pools. For a factory, it’s pretty nice,’ – Steve Jobs, quoted by the Daily Mail Reporter in June 2010.
But there were rumors. Rumors of long hours, child labor, slipping morale. None of this surprised me. I have been to China and have talked to Chinese citizens who were forced to make soccer balls, and plastic lighters during their Chinese imprisonment. Their crime – not attending the state sponsored churches. How Chinese “troublemakers,” were routinely beaten, arrested, kidnapped and would frequently disappear. I had met some of those people who for whatever reason ended up in prison or crippled because they dare tangle with the communist regime. I had heard with my own ears the communist’s government commitment to cutting labor costs, no matter the human toll.
So my harden heart went to the Baker production with an intellectual’s understanding of the cost of our “Made in China,” it’s cheaper at Wal-Mart consumer culture. I was appalled but not surprised at Daisey’s assertion at the atrocities he heard about at the Fox Conn factory he visited in the summer of 2010.
Though I raged against the machine, I tacitly accepted that the appliances in my home, the clothes I wore, the shoes I bought were not manufactured as ethically as I liked. But I felt imprisoned by this knowledge. What was I to do? Have you ever tried buying apparel that wasn’t made in China? Or anything from Target? It ain’t easy. Besides, I spend most of my waking hours telling the story of the people struggling with poverty, oppression and persecution. Didn’t that balance out the fact my new laptop was probably made by some 13-year street urchin?
But the nets…man those freaking nets. The nets were a metaphor for the workers who hand-crafted my iPhone. Like those nets, the Chinese workers, barely registered in my vision. And like the Chinese workers, the nets were an efficient solution to address a growing problem.
I have long struggled with the after effects of today’s capitalism. The growing environmental damage, the dead men walking across borders just to pick fruit, the largess and excess of the multi-billionaires who flaunt their private jets, celebrity-clad parties and lavish lifestyles as a pinnacle of success, while the workers whose blood, sweat and tears made them rich can’t buy groceries. I’ve struggled not because I don’t despise those aforementioned effects of commercialism, but because I ain’t never seen a poor man give another poor man a job. I haven’t seen a system, beyond capitalism, where the most people can achieve the most happiness in the span of less than a generation.
And I’ve also been to Cuba and let me tell you Michael Moore didn’t show you the half of it. He didn’t show you the ration cards each Cuban has that puts them on a food quota and forces them to go to the black market if they go beyond that quota. Or how Cubans do not own the homes they live in but lease them from the government. Or that Cuba is filled with 1950s classic cars not because it’s stuck on the past but that these are the only individual assets many families had that were grandfathered in after the revolution. So when a car is the only thing you can call your own, well you tend to take care of it and keep it.
And then there was Leo, my Cuban rickshaw driver, who told me wistfully that he wish he could travel outside Cuba to study, but he couldn’t, the government wouldn’t let him.
Communism may seem like a way to equally distribute wealth but it’s funny how all the wealth ends up in the party’s coffers while the workers are no better off than they were under the industrialists. So I’ve always preferred a jobs-creating, capitalist society where the individual can achieve as much as he or she wants through hard work, dedication, common sense and individual personal responsibility.
But those nets man…they are evidence of our corporations’ violation of their citizens’ contracts. As citizens we figuratively make a social contract with the world. The world lets us pursue our dreams as long as we do not infringe upon the rights of other individuals and help each other out from time to time. Corporations are always talking about how they are citizens – ie., free speech through political payouts. But they rarely act like it.
“I’m here to make money,” one capitalist said, “not friends.”
Oh there are a few heroes, Patagonia for one, but most corporations leave a lot to be desired when it comes to corporate responsibility and human rights. But Apple, well, they were supposed to be different. They were creating technology that would change the world – for the better right? Now I find Apple, the self-styled manufacturer of the elite, the future, built by the most famous humanist, well, they aren’t practicing what they polluted into our minds. It’s a shock we may never recover from.
I was in overseas recently and was sitting around a table with a group of people who supported the same organization I did. As we were talking about the recession, its causes, one person in particular interrupted me as I began to talk with “Well, what’s the most profitable company in America?”
And I looked at her and said, “Apple.”
And she looked aghast. “No it’s Exxon.”
I shook my head. “Apple surpassed it this quarter.”
The table got quiet. The only thing you heard were the dogs barking outside. And then incredibly people went back to bashing oil companies.
For years, Big Oil was the symbol of the evils of capitalism. Profit at all costs, was it’s motto, no matter the damage even the hurting of ecosystems and habitats and human beings. The BP spill pretty much guaranteed Big Oil’s induction into the Bad Corporation Hall of Fame. But our economic Satan has been dethroned. And Apple, with its $500 billion market share, it’s 60% profits and its $100 billion in cash reserves, is our new enemy now. But I wonder…how many of us will even take up the fight?
OK, a trip to the hairdresser and my recent trip to India got me all inner reflective so for all you folk of mine from another color here is an inside story on the most frustrating part of being a black woman. No it’s not finding love or a man or even Mr. Right now.
Naw, this is about the part of a black woman that she has the most trouble with. It’s a love/hate relationship that has her questioning her womanhood, her identity her place in this world. It’s the only part of her that has her frazzled, that undermines her impeccable Nubian credentials and even if she’s made peace with it and herself and her management of it, well, there’s a little girl inside of her that cringes when she walks by a salon and can smell hair burning. Of course, I’m talking about the black woman’s unique attribute – her hair. I can find an eligible man anywhere, but the right hair ‘do could take decades.
Today was my first hair appointment since I moved to Chicago. She was a new stylist so I had to give her the run down on my hair.
Now by all accounts I’ve been blessed in the hair department. My hair is fairly manageable and melts like butter when it’s supposed to. It’s not long, never has been, but it’s never really given me any problems. But what I do to my hair is a different story. I had to tell her that I swim about four or five times a week. This is unusual for a black woman so she asked me what I did with my hair. Since I was getting a relaxer (a perm which makes my hair straight for all my peeps of another color) she was astounded that I swam everyday. Then I told her about my 45-minute ritual after I got out of the pool – this includes washing with a specialized chlorine-stripping shampoo twice and then conditioning my hair with an ultra strong/protected conditioner then whisking my hair into a ponytail compliments of the “phony-pony,” a drawstring ponytail made from synthetic hair. I immediately felt so sorry for my stylist since I’m going swimming tomorrow and will mess up all her beautiful art work.
After she gasped, she asked me a question I’ve been asked countless times before:
“Have you ever considered getting hair sewed in?” I twisted my nose in aversion.
OK so for all of you who do not know what I’m talking about and are wondering about the title of this piece as compared to the subject matter here’s a secret: A lot of the hair on the heads of black women comes from countries they’ve never been too. From India, China, Korea etc., the hair extension industry is a multi-million dollar business supplying lovely straight locks to the previously short, nappy or funky-haired allowing women to literally change who they are by changing their looks. A black woman, who previously was ignored, marginalized or even stepped over, can stop men – black and white alike – in their tracks with a good weave and a low cut dress. Her long locks make her zip from invisible to mainstream. (Men’s fascination with long hair always confused me….that’s another story.) Even white women – Kate Moss, Cheryl Cole to name a few, and of course Madonna – have glommed on to the industry that gives human hair a different address. (Lindsay Lohan got to keep hers during her recent jail stay.)
Sewing in is the process of literally taking this exported human hair and sewing it onto your braided hair for a beautiful set of locks that last about three to five months. Anyone who watched Chris Rock’s “Good Hair,” knows that this process is long and expensive. The hair weave/extension industry has exploded into a big import/export business that literally supplies millions of pounds of hair a year to black women all over the globe.
Like anything there’s varying kinds, textures and qualities. And they all have funny names like Yaki, Remi and then there’s, of course, the straight dope – human hair.
I learned from Chris Rock that a lot of the human hair supplied for weaves come from Indian women participating in a Hindu ritual. This, among other reasons, made me avoid the human hair sew-in thing. I didn’t want to support the subjugation of women (my description) and my own foolish vanity at the same time. Besides, as a swimmer I always thought getting a weave just wouldn’t work on me. I work out (or well I’m starting to again) a lot and swim as we said before. And weave is like a piece of art it’s meant to be seen and admired not used and abused. But then my hair dresser told me about this wonderful human hair product that turns curly when wet and looks great.
After being in India for a week and talking to my hairdresser I’m seriously thinking of starting an import/export business of Indian hair. But I want to get it from some of the poor villages I visited. I figure these women could retire from all the money they will make selling black woman their hair. Prices for the hair range from $150 a hair pack up to $300. It’s amazing how much it costs. I was shocked. Then after you get the hair there’s the price of up to $300 to sew it onto your hair. The whole thing sounds daunting but I know countless women do it all the time.
So my real question is should I do it? Since I travel to India I’d probably want to go get my own hair and make sure it comes from a women who is not being subjugated or oppressed or forced into selling her hair. I’ve been to India I know how commercial ventures could easily turn into exploitative practices. I’m just not sure that the hair I buy will be ethically correct. Maybe I should forget the entire thing and just go back to writhing in agony over my looks everyday. Mmmm. Decisions. Decisions.What about it? Can there be a such thing as an ethical hair extension company? I mean, could I really have a clean way of getting hair from poor women and commercially bringing it to other women who have historically been subjugated by society? Is that possible? Is human hair trafficking right? Your thoughts?