I attended the talk on UCF by Rachel Louise Snyder on January 19th, which was hosted by the UCF Global Perspectives Office. The title of the talk was "Fugitive Denim: A Global Story." referencing Snyder's book Fugitive Denim: A Moving Story of People and Pants in the Borderless World of Global Trade.
The talk was somewhat refreshing in that it was not simply about how terrible sweatshops are and how we need to stop buying products that support them. Snyder took as granted that her audience was aware of the problem of sweatshops; her talk was focused more on some of the efforts that have been made to address the problem, and how it is often more complicated than Western awareness tends to assume.
Snyder opened her talk with a clip from an American TV show in which a character talked about sweatshops in Cambodia. This was noteworthy to Snyder because Cambodia is the only developing country in the world which is considered "sweatshop-free." Because Cambodia only began industrializing in the mid-90s, its new government had the opportunity to design a legal framework for regulating industrialization that was not hampered by an already-entrenched manufacturing sector. This, plus liberal labor laws which have allowed the formation of some 700 labor unions (which can be formed by as few as three workers), mean that Cambodian workers are nominally afforded protections which make their working conditions comparable to those in the developed world, and significantly better in terms of vacation time and health care than the US. This is the kind of fact that often gets lost in Western conversations about labor issues in developing countries—we tend to think of the "Third World" as a monolithic entity with similar conditions everywhere, and are often unaware of the distinctions in history and law that make the issues faced in every developing country unique.
Snyder referred frequently to the "Cambodian model" as represented by the policies of Better Factories Cambodia, a program managed by the International Labour Organization in cooperation with the Cambodian government, as evidence that it is possible for a country to establish fair labor standards while still being economically viable. (Manufacturing in Cambodia is still relatively expensive according to Snyder, but this is due more to transportation costs and unstable infrastructure than to the cost of labor.) A greater knowledge of what has worked in Cambodia would be very useful in Western discourses about sweatshops, which tend to take as given the corporate argument that there is a necessary tradeoff between worker protections and economic viability.
Snyder also used a story about prison labor in Cambodia to frame the difficult questions that arise in enforcing the anti-sweatshop policies adopted by Western brands. Late in her time in Cambodia, Snyder was informed of a prison where female inmates were required to work making garments for practically no pay, contrary to the stated policies of the garment brand. When Snyder attempted to interview the inmates, however, they refused, fearing that attention would lead to the prison labor program being halted. This was because the inmates' children were with them in prison, and accompanying their mothers outside to the garment processing area was the only opportunity these children had to leave the prison cells. This is a common reality—even in clearly abusive workplaces, workers, especially those in vulnerable populations, are too dependent on some aspect of the work to risk losing it. Simply shutting down these workplaces when abuses are made public is often not a solution that serves the actual needs of the workers. The policy of Better Factories Cambodia, cited by Snyder as a better solution, is to aim for continuous improvement through remediation rather than full compliance with labor standards. This might mean, for example, that a brand contracting with a factory in violation of standards might compensate the affected workers by making up the difference in their pay or by sponsoring their education. This allows the workers the possibility of improving their lives without interfering with their immediate survival by completely eliminating the job they depend on.
Labeling of product origins is another issue Snyder considers important. Almost any garment tag identifying a country origin is deceptive, as nearly all products in the global economy rely on supply chains that cross borders numerous times before the final assembly. Sometimes the origin stated on a garment tag represents only a nominal amount of work, done there only to get around export restrictions in the country where most of the work is actually done. Snyder touched on more recent approaches to product labeling that require multiple origins to be identified, or even attach a digital fingerprint to each garment that allows the buyer to trace its full history through an online database.
The issue of labor standards in the developing countries the West relies on for manufactured goods is a complicated one, but Snyder's talk was generally optimistic about current developments. Viewed from a global level, the problem seems overwhelming, but the more localized perspective on a particular area such as Cambodia offered by Snyder suggests that small, continuous improvements are ongoing and will eventually lead to meaningful progress.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
The Help at Rollins College
On January 19th, I attended a screening of The Help at Rollins College, which was presented as part of Rollins' week of Martin Luther King Jr. Day-related events. The screening included a discussion, which I stayed for, and I also won a raffle drawing for a copy of the novel.
The plot of the film involves an aspiring white journalist in 1960s Jackson, Mississippi who seeks to establish herself as a writer by reporting on the experiences of the ubiquitous black maids in that community. The film explores the racism experienced by these maids, as well as the expectations about dating and appearance that constrain the journalist herself. The key theme of the film is the intimate bonds formed between white children and the black maids who are their primary caregivers.
I did spend most of the film under the impression that it was one of those "based on a true story" pieces, and that the collection of stories was an actual thing that was published during the 1960s. It was somewhat disappointing to check the blurb on the novel and see that it is actually a recently-published fiction novel with no necessary connection to the stories of real people. But at the same time, it's somewhat reassuring; the characters in the movie—especially the villains—sometimes came across as cartoonish, and the overall effect was a Disney-fied presentation of racism as a straightforward issue. Racists and other bigots in today's real world almost always seem to have complicated rationalizations that allow them to explain their views in ways that seem superficially fair and justified, as a defense mechanism which shields them from confronting the fact that they actually are terrible people. The film's villains have none of that self-consciousness; they are racist because they are just plain Bad and Ignorant, and in that sense the film seems to fail to present the actual reality of racism in the period.
The black protagonists of the film sometimes seem to live rather one-dimensional lives as well, and there has been some criticism of the film from that perspective by online writers—for example, this article in The Rumpus by Roxane Gay. Gay criticizes the inaccurate use of dialect, the erasure of black women's active participation in the Civil Rights Movement, and the absence of men as significant characters in the film—no white men are presented as culpable for the state of race relations or as sources for the sexual violence that characterized the lives of historical domestic workers, and no black men are seen sharing the struggle with the women. Only one black woman is mentioned as having a husband, and he is abusive and never seen on-screen. (Gay does not mention the community's male pastor who offers advice to the maids at a few points in the plot.) Many of the same criticisms are also made in a statement by the Association of Black Women Historians.
Overall, Gay's critique focuses on film's use of the "magical negro" trope, in which black characters are used as wise facilitators for a white protagonist's spiritual journey. The implication is that this parallels the reasons for the real-world popularity of the novel and film. At the screening Gay attended, the theater was filled with white women talking excitedly about the novel, as though consuming this Hollywood product is sufficient to render them better and more culturally-aware people.
Whether or not this is the dynamic at work nationwide, it was not particularly apparent at the Rollins screening. The audience at Rollins seemed culturally mixed, with what was probably a narrow black majority, and no one from any background noted any of the issues identified by Gay's critique in the discussion afterward. The discussion was primarily focused on older audience members sharing their memories of segregation, with very little direct reference to the events of the film. One person posed the question early on of whether and how parents should explain the history of segregation to their children, and much of the discussion that followed touched on that topic. The fact that the period portrayed in the film occurred in living memory and there were people present who spoke about it from personal experience did make the film seem much more real than it might have in isolation.
In spite of the issues with the film identified by writers like Gay, the fact that it did inspire conversations like those that occurred after the Rollins screening do suggest that its popularity may be a positive phenomenon overall. Unrealistic though it may be, sometimes that is not necessarily the expectation of fiction. If it is not taken as literal history in itself, but rather as inspiration for conversations about people's own experiences of history, then it has achieved what stories about the past are best suited to do.
The plot of the film involves an aspiring white journalist in 1960s Jackson, Mississippi who seeks to establish herself as a writer by reporting on the experiences of the ubiquitous black maids in that community. The film explores the racism experienced by these maids, as well as the expectations about dating and appearance that constrain the journalist herself. The key theme of the film is the intimate bonds formed between white children and the black maids who are their primary caregivers.
I did spend most of the film under the impression that it was one of those "based on a true story" pieces, and that the collection of stories was an actual thing that was published during the 1960s. It was somewhat disappointing to check the blurb on the novel and see that it is actually a recently-published fiction novel with no necessary connection to the stories of real people. But at the same time, it's somewhat reassuring; the characters in the movie—especially the villains—sometimes came across as cartoonish, and the overall effect was a Disney-fied presentation of racism as a straightforward issue. Racists and other bigots in today's real world almost always seem to have complicated rationalizations that allow them to explain their views in ways that seem superficially fair and justified, as a defense mechanism which shields them from confronting the fact that they actually are terrible people. The film's villains have none of that self-consciousness; they are racist because they are just plain Bad and Ignorant, and in that sense the film seems to fail to present the actual reality of racism in the period.
The black protagonists of the film sometimes seem to live rather one-dimensional lives as well, and there has been some criticism of the film from that perspective by online writers—for example, this article in The Rumpus by Roxane Gay. Gay criticizes the inaccurate use of dialect, the erasure of black women's active participation in the Civil Rights Movement, and the absence of men as significant characters in the film—no white men are presented as culpable for the state of race relations or as sources for the sexual violence that characterized the lives of historical domestic workers, and no black men are seen sharing the struggle with the women. Only one black woman is mentioned as having a husband, and he is abusive and never seen on-screen. (Gay does not mention the community's male pastor who offers advice to the maids at a few points in the plot.) Many of the same criticisms are also made in a statement by the Association of Black Women Historians.
Overall, Gay's critique focuses on film's use of the "magical negro" trope, in which black characters are used as wise facilitators for a white protagonist's spiritual journey. The implication is that this parallels the reasons for the real-world popularity of the novel and film. At the screening Gay attended, the theater was filled with white women talking excitedly about the novel, as though consuming this Hollywood product is sufficient to render them better and more culturally-aware people.
Whether or not this is the dynamic at work nationwide, it was not particularly apparent at the Rollins screening. The audience at Rollins seemed culturally mixed, with what was probably a narrow black majority, and no one from any background noted any of the issues identified by Gay's critique in the discussion afterward. The discussion was primarily focused on older audience members sharing their memories of segregation, with very little direct reference to the events of the film. One person posed the question early on of whether and how parents should explain the history of segregation to their children, and much of the discussion that followed touched on that topic. The fact that the period portrayed in the film occurred in living memory and there were people present who spoke about it from personal experience did make the film seem much more real than it might have in isolation.
In spite of the issues with the film identified by writers like Gay, the fact that it did inspire conversations like those that occurred after the Rollins screening do suggest that its popularity may be a positive phenomenon overall. Unrealistic though it may be, sometimes that is not necessarily the expectation of fiction. If it is not taken as literal history in itself, but rather as inspiration for conversations about people's own experiences of history, then it has achieved what stories about the past are best suited to do.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Intro letter
Ms. Tweed,
As requested, I am writing to introduce myself to you and to the class.
I'm taking this class to begin a women's studies minor to supplement my anthropology degree. This will be my second bachelor's; I previously attended UCF for computer science from 2000 through 2003.
I've been involved in a predominantly feminist social sphere for a number of years and have become reasonably familiar with the concepts involved simply through ordinary conversation. My own current beliefs draw heavily upon feminist ideas, and feminism will undoubtedly influence my research interests as an anthropology student.
Because of feminism, I have become very aware that gender is an influence on every part of my life. The fact that I was born male and am seen as masculine (as well as white and middle-class) did make it possible for me to get a technical education and enter a technical profession with very few obstacles. My gender clearly does give me some freedoms which are easy to take for granted. But it imposes limits on me as well—it affects, for example, how I am expected to dress, how much sex I'm supposed to want, and what my tastes in movies and games should be. My masculine role conflicts with my actual desires as a gender-nonconforming person, an asexual person, and a person who actually likes story and relationships in media. The gender binary is clearly an obstacle to the kind of life I want to live, and it is in my interest to be a part of the struggle to undo it—even if it means losing the extra 23 cents per dollar that I am afforded through male privilege. (Though I'd rather just abolish the wage system altogether...)
The amount of activism I've been personally involved in is sadly limited. My previous time at college was ill-spent on Libertarian politics (I was young and foolish!), and I did serve a largely unproductive term in SGA Senate. Since I left college, my focus has been on work and social life. This past year I did attend several union rallies in solidarity with the Wisconsin protests last spring. I also joined the International Workers of the World and attended a few events with the Gainesville IWW chapter over the summer. Since the fall, however, I've been too busy with long hours at work plus restarting school at Valencia to be too engaged. This was unfortunate, since with a number of movements like Occupy and SlutWalk reaching critical mass, this was an excellent year for activism. Now that I'm on the UCF campus regularly again, I do hope to find some time to become more involved in campus activism.
I do believe that the personal is political, and I make some effort to be an activist simply through personal connections—calling out rape culture, misogyny, and homophobia when I see it, and actively sharing material relevant to social consciousness on Facebook. And given that I am in a privileged position where I am able to be out about things without much fear of reprisal from family or employers, I do think it is important for me to be vocal about my experiences as an asexual person, a polyamorous person, an atheist, and a gender-nonconforming person; that reminds people that other ways of living do exist, and makes me available as a resource to those who may have questions about their own identities.
Oh, and I have read, understand, and agree to the terms of the course syllabus and the blogging protocols.
That should be sufficient for now. Thank you for reading, and I look forward to the class!
Scott Vogelpohl
As requested, I am writing to introduce myself to you and to the class.
I'm taking this class to begin a women's studies minor to supplement my anthropology degree. This will be my second bachelor's; I previously attended UCF for computer science from 2000 through 2003.
I've been involved in a predominantly feminist social sphere for a number of years and have become reasonably familiar with the concepts involved simply through ordinary conversation. My own current beliefs draw heavily upon feminist ideas, and feminism will undoubtedly influence my research interests as an anthropology student.
Because of feminism, I have become very aware that gender is an influence on every part of my life. The fact that I was born male and am seen as masculine (as well as white and middle-class) did make it possible for me to get a technical education and enter a technical profession with very few obstacles. My gender clearly does give me some freedoms which are easy to take for granted. But it imposes limits on me as well—it affects, for example, how I am expected to dress, how much sex I'm supposed to want, and what my tastes in movies and games should be. My masculine role conflicts with my actual desires as a gender-nonconforming person, an asexual person, and a person who actually likes story and relationships in media. The gender binary is clearly an obstacle to the kind of life I want to live, and it is in my interest to be a part of the struggle to undo it—even if it means losing the extra 23 cents per dollar that I am afforded through male privilege. (Though I'd rather just abolish the wage system altogether...)
The amount of activism I've been personally involved in is sadly limited. My previous time at college was ill-spent on Libertarian politics (I was young and foolish!), and I did serve a largely unproductive term in SGA Senate. Since I left college, my focus has been on work and social life. This past year I did attend several union rallies in solidarity with the Wisconsin protests last spring. I also joined the International Workers of the World and attended a few events with the Gainesville IWW chapter over the summer. Since the fall, however, I've been too busy with long hours at work plus restarting school at Valencia to be too engaged. This was unfortunate, since with a number of movements like Occupy and SlutWalk reaching critical mass, this was an excellent year for activism. Now that I'm on the UCF campus regularly again, I do hope to find some time to become more involved in campus activism.
I do believe that the personal is political, and I make some effort to be an activist simply through personal connections—calling out rape culture, misogyny, and homophobia when I see it, and actively sharing material relevant to social consciousness on Facebook. And given that I am in a privileged position where I am able to be out about things without much fear of reprisal from family or employers, I do think it is important for me to be vocal about my experiences as an asexual person, a polyamorous person, an atheist, and a gender-nonconforming person; that reminds people that other ways of living do exist, and makes me available as a resource to those who may have questions about their own identities.
Oh, and I have read, understand, and agree to the terms of the course syllabus and the blogging protocols.
That should be sufficient for now. Thank you for reading, and I look forward to the class!
Scott Vogelpohl
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)