What is perhaps most remarkable about the Nike backlash is its durability. After four solid years in the public eye, the Nike story still has legs (so too, of course, does the Nike brand). Still, most corporate scandals are successfully faced down with a statement of "regret" and a few glossy ads of children playing happily under the offending logo. Not with Nike. The news reports, labor studies and academic research documenting the sweat behind the swoosh have yet to slow down, and Nike critics remain tireless at dissecting the steady stream of materials churned out by Nike's PR machine. They were unmoved by Phil Knight's presence on the White House Task Force on Sweatshops-despite his priceless photo op standing beside President Clinton at the Rose Garden press conference. They sliced and diced the report Nike commissioned from civil-rights leader Andrew Young, pointing out that Young completely dodged the question of whether Nike's factory wages are inhumanely exploitative, and attacking him for relying on translators provided by Nike itself when he visited the factories in Indonesia and Vietnam. As for Nike's other study-for-hire-this one by a group of Dartmouth business students who concluded that workers in Vietnam were living the good life on less than $2 a day-well, everyone pretty much ignored that one altogether.
Finally, in May 1998, Phil Knight stepped out from behind the curtain of spin doctors and called a press conference in Washington to address his critics directly. Knight began by saying that he had been painted as a "corporate crook, the perfect corporate villain for these times." He acknowledged that his shoes "have become synonymous with slave wages, forced overtime and arbitrary abuse." Then, to much fanfare, he unveiled a plan to improve working conditions in Asia. It contained some tough new regulations on factory air quality and the use of petroleum-based chemicals. It promised to provide classes inside some Indonesian factories and promised not to hire anyone under eighteen years old in the shoe factories. But there was still nothing substantial in the plan about allowing independent outside monitors to inspect the factories, and there were no wage raises for the workers. Knight did promise, however, that Nike's contractors would no longer be permitted to appeal to the Indonesian government for a waiver on the minimum wage.
It wasn't enough. That September the San Francisco human-rights group Global Exchange, one of the company's harshest critics, released an alarming report on the status of Nike's Indonesian workers in the midst of the country's economic and political crisis. "While workers producing Nike shoes were low paid before their currency, the rupiah, began plummeting in late 1997, the dollar value of their wages has dropped from $2.47/day in 1997 to 80 cents/day in 1998." Meanwhile, the report noted that with soaring commodity prices, workers "estimated that their cost of living had gone up anywhere from 100 to 300 percent."16 Global Exchange called on Nike to double the wages of its Indonesian workforce, an exercise that would cost it $20 million a year-exactly what Michael Jordan is paid annually to endorse the company. Global Exchange called on Nike to double the wages of its Indonesian workforce, an exercise that would cost it $20 million a year-exactly what Michael Jordan is paid annually to endorse the company.
Not surprisingly, Nike did not double the wages, but it did, three weeks later, give 30 percent of the Indonesian workforce a 25 percent raise.17 That, too, failed to silence the crowds outside the superstores, and five months later Nike came forward again, this time with what vice president of corporate responsibility Maria Eitel called "an aggressive corporate responsibility agenda at Nike." That, too, failed to silence the crowds outside the superstores, and five months later Nike came forward again, this time with what vice president of corporate responsibility Maria Eitel called "an aggressive corporate responsibility agenda at Nike."18 As of April 1, 1999, workers would get another 6 percent raise. The company had also opened up a Vietnamese factory near Ho Chi Minh City to outside health and safety monitors, who found conditions much improved. Dara O'Rourke of the University of California at Berkeley reported that the factory had "implemented important changes over the past 18 months which appear to have significantly reduced worker exposures to toxic solvents, adhesives and other chemicals." What made the report all the more remarkable was that O'Rourke's inspection was a genuinely independent one: in fact, less than two years earlier, he had enraged the company by leaking a report conducted by Ernst & Young that showed that Nike was ignoring widespread violations at that same factory. As of April 1, 1999, workers would get another 6 percent raise. The company had also opened up a Vietnamese factory near Ho Chi Minh City to outside health and safety monitors, who found conditions much improved. Dara O'Rourke of the University of California at Berkeley reported that the factory had "implemented important changes over the past 18 months which appear to have significantly reduced worker exposures to toxic solvents, adhesives and other chemicals." What made the report all the more remarkable was that O'Rourke's inspection was a genuinely independent one: in fact, less than two years earlier, he had enraged the company by leaking a report conducted by Ernst & Young that showed that Nike was ignoring widespread violations at that same factory.
O'Rourke's findings weren't all glowing. There were still persistent problems with air quality, factory overheating and safety gear-and he had visited only the one factory.19 As well, Nike's much-heralded 6 percent pay raise for Indonesian workers still left much to be desired; it amounted to an increase of one cent an hour and, with inflation and currency fluctuation, only brought wages to about half of what Nike paychecks were worth before the economic crisis. Even so, these were significant gestures coming from a company that two years earlier was playing the role of the powerless global shopper, claiming that contractors alone had the authority to set wages and make the rules. As well, Nike's much-heralded 6 percent pay raise for Indonesian workers still left much to be desired; it amounted to an increase of one cent an hour and, with inflation and currency fluctuation, only brought wages to about half of what Nike paychecks were worth before the economic crisis. Even so, these were significant gestures coming from a company that two years earlier was playing the role of the powerless global shopper, claiming that contractors alone had the authority to set wages and make the rules.
The resilience of the Nike campaign in the face of the public-relations onslaught is persuasive evidence that invasive marketing, coupled with worker abandonment, strikes a wide range of people from different walks of life as grossly unfair and unsustainable. Moreover, many of those people are not interested in letting Nike off the hook simply because this formula has become the standard one for capitalism-as-usual. On the contrary, there seems to be a part of the public psyche that likes kicking the most macho and extreme of all the sporting-goods companies in the shins-I mean really really likes it. Nike's critics have shown that they don't want this story to be brushed under the rug with a reassuring bit of corporate PR; they want it out in the open, where they can keep a close eye on it. likes it. Nike's critics have shown that they don't want this story to be brushed under the rug with a reassuring bit of corporate PR; they want it out in the open, where they can keep a close eye on it.
In large part, this is because Nike's critics know that the company's sweatshop scandals are not the result of a series of freak accidents: they know that the criticisms leveled at Nike apply to all the brand-based shoe companies contracting out to a global maze of firms. But rather than this serving as a justification, Nike-as the market leader-has become a lightning rod for this broader resentment. It has been latched on to as the essential story of the extremes of the current global economy: the disparities between those who profit from Nike's success and those who are exploited by it are so gaping that a child could understand what is wrong with this picture and indeed (as we will see in the next chapter) it is children and teenagers who most readily do.
So, when does the total boycott of Nike products begin? Not soon, apparently. A cursory glance around any city in the world shows that the swoosh is still ubiquitous; some athletes still tattoo it on their navels, and plenty of high-school students still deck themselves out in the coveted gear. But at the same time, there can be little doubt that the millions of dollars that Nike has saved in labor costs over the years are beginning to bite back, and take a toll on its bottom line. "We didn't think that the Nike situation would be as bad as it seems to be," said Nikko stock analyst Tim Finucane in The Wall Street Journal The Wall Street Journal in March 1998. in March 1998.20 Wall Street really had no choice but to turn on the company that had been its darling for so many years. Despite the fact that Asia's plummeting currencies meant that Nike's labor costs in Indonesia, for instance, were a quarter of what they were before the crash, the company was still suffering. Nike's profits were down, orders were down, stock prices were Wall Street really had no choice but to turn on the company that had been its darling for so many years. Despite the fact that Asia's plummeting currencies meant that Nike's labor costs in Indonesia, for instance, were a quarter of what they were before the crash, the company was still suffering. Nike's profits were down, orders were down, stock prices were way way down, and after an average annual growth of 34 percent since 1995, quarterly earnings were suddenly down 70 percent. By the third quarter, which ended in February 1999, Nike's profits were once again up 70 percent-but by the company's own account, the recovery was not the result of rebounding sales but rather of Nike's decision to cut jobs and contracts. In fact, Nike's revenues and future orders were down in 1999 for the second year in a row. down, and after an average annual growth of 34 percent since 1995, quarterly earnings were suddenly down 70 percent. By the third quarter, which ended in February 1999, Nike's profits were once again up 70 percent-but by the company's own account, the recovery was not the result of rebounding sales but rather of Nike's decision to cut jobs and contracts. In fact, Nike's revenues and future orders were down in 1999 for the second year in a row.21 Nike has blamed its financial problems on everything but but the human-rights campaign. The Asian currency crisis was the reason Nikes weren't selling well in Japan and South Korea; or it was because Americans were buying "brown shoes" (walking shoes and hiking boots) as opposed to big white sneakers. But the brown-shoe excuse rang hollow. Nike makes plenty of brown shoes-it has a line of hiking boots, and it owns Cole Haan (and recently saved millions by closing down the Cole Haan factory in Portand, Maine, and moving production to Mexico and Brazil). the human-rights campaign. The Asian currency crisis was the reason Nikes weren't selling well in Japan and South Korea; or it was because Americans were buying "brown shoes" (walking shoes and hiking boots) as opposed to big white sneakers. But the brown-shoe excuse rang hollow. Nike makes plenty of brown shoes-it has a line of hiking boots, and it owns Cole Haan (and recently saved millions by closing down the Cole Haan factory in Portand, Maine, and moving production to Mexico and Brazil).22 More to the point, Adidas staged a massive comeback during the very year that Nike was free-falling. In the quarter when Nike nose-dived, Adidas sales were up 42 percent, its net income was up 48 percent, to $255 million, and its stock price had tripled in two years. The German company, as we have seen, turned its fortunes around by copying Nike's production structure and all but Xeroxing its approach to marketing and sponsorships (the political implications of that will be dealt with in Chapter 18). In 199798, Adidas even redesigned its basketball shoes so they looked just like Nikes: big, white and ultra high tech. But unlike Nikes, they sold briskly. So much for the brown-shoe theory. More to the point, Adidas staged a massive comeback during the very year that Nike was free-falling. In the quarter when Nike nose-dived, Adidas sales were up 42 percent, its net income was up 48 percent, to $255 million, and its stock price had tripled in two years. The German company, as we have seen, turned its fortunes around by copying Nike's production structure and all but Xeroxing its approach to marketing and sponsorships (the political implications of that will be dealt with in Chapter 18). In 199798, Adidas even redesigned its basketball shoes so they looked just like Nikes: big, white and ultra high tech. But unlike Nikes, they sold briskly. So much for the brown-shoe theory.
Over the years Nike has tried dozens of tactics to silence the cries of its critics, but the most ironic by far has been the company's desperate attempt to hide behind its product. "We're not political activists. We are a footwear manufacturer," said Nike spokeswoman Donna Gibbs, when the sweatshop scandal first began to erupt.23 A footwear manufacturer? This from the company that made a concerted decision in the mid-eighties not to be about boring corporeal stuff like footwear-and certainly nothing as crass as manufacturing. Nike wanted to be about sports, Knight told us, it wanted to be about the idea of sports, then the idea of transcendence through sports; then it wanted to be about self-empowerment, women's rights, racial equality. It wanted its stores to be temples, its ads a religion, its customers a nation, its workers a tribe. After taking us all on such a branded ride, to turn around and say "Don't look at us, we just make shoes" rings laughably hollow. A footwear manufacturer? This from the company that made a concerted decision in the mid-eighties not to be about boring corporeal stuff like footwear-and certainly nothing as crass as manufacturing. Nike wanted to be about sports, Knight told us, it wanted to be about the idea of sports, then the idea of transcendence through sports; then it wanted to be about self-empowerment, women's rights, racial equality. It wanted its stores to be temples, its ads a religion, its customers a nation, its workers a tribe. After taking us all on such a branded ride, to turn around and say "Don't look at us, we just make shoes" rings laughably hollow.
Nike was the most inflated of all the balloon brands, and the bigger it grew, the louder it popped.
The Shell: The Fight for Open Space In North America, Nike has been at the forefront of the burgeoning political movement taking aim at the power of multinationals, but in Britain, Germany and the Netherlands, that dubious honor has belonged to Royal Dutch/Shell.
It began in February 1995 when Shell finalized its plans to dispose of a rusted and obsolete oil-storage platform, known as Brent Spar, by sinking it in the Atlantic Ocean, 150 miles off the coast of Scotland. The environmental group Greenpeace was against the plan, claiming the 14,500-ton rig should be towed to land, where the oil sludge could be contained and the rig's parts recycled. Shell countered that land disposal was unsafe, not to mention impossible. Then, on April 30, just as Shell began towing the platform to its watery grave, a group of Greenpeace activists showed up in a helicopter and tried to land on the Brent Spar. Shell fended off the aircraft with water cannons, but the entire episode was captured on videotape, and the images were sent via satellite to TV stations around the world.
It was vintage Greenpeace, ever the made-for-TV activists. But the impact those images from the Brent Spar had on the European public took even Greenpeace by surprise. Before the Brent Spar incident, the group was teetering on the brink of obsolescence-the eco movement had been under attack, and appeared to be sputtering out in the wake of recession, and Greenpeace itself had lost credibility because of internal divisions and questionable financial and tactical policies. When Greenpeace decided to launch a campaign against the sinking of the Brent Spar, it had no idea that this rather arcane issue would become a cause celebre. As Robin Grove-White, chairman of Greenpeace U.K., readily admits, "No one, and certainly not people within Greenpeace, anticipated the profound and continuing reverberations."24 Unlike the environmentally disastrous Exxon Valdez Exxon Valdez oil spill four years earlier (a clear-cut case of negligence involving a drunken captain), it wasn't as if Shell was doing anything illegal. The plan had received full approval from John Major's governing Conservatives, and sinking had become a standard way of disposing of old platforms. Besides, it was even debatable whether Greenpeace's land-disposal alternative was more ecologically sound than Shell's proposed deep-sea dunk. But the image that Greenpeace generated-of an ugly, giant, rusted pollution generator fending off the good green activists that were buzzing it like dogged mosquitoes-caught people's attention, and gave them a timely and rare opportunity to stop and think about what was being proposed. And much of the public decided that Shell wanted to sink its hunk of metal and sludge because the most profitable corporation in the world was too cheap to come up with a better plan to dispose of its garbage. This view was reinforced by a damning study that found that land disposal of the Brent Spar would cost Shell US$70 million, while sinking it would cost a mere US$16 million. Coming from a $128 billion company, this apparent penny-pinching did not impress the gasoline-buying public at all. oil spill four years earlier (a clear-cut case of negligence involving a drunken captain), it wasn't as if Shell was doing anything illegal. The plan had received full approval from John Major's governing Conservatives, and sinking had become a standard way of disposing of old platforms. Besides, it was even debatable whether Greenpeace's land-disposal alternative was more ecologically sound than Shell's proposed deep-sea dunk. But the image that Greenpeace generated-of an ugly, giant, rusted pollution generator fending off the good green activists that were buzzing it like dogged mosquitoes-caught people's attention, and gave them a timely and rare opportunity to stop and think about what was being proposed. And much of the public decided that Shell wanted to sink its hunk of metal and sludge because the most profitable corporation in the world was too cheap to come up with a better plan to dispose of its garbage. This view was reinforced by a damning study that found that land disposal of the Brent Spar would cost Shell US$70 million, while sinking it would cost a mere US$16 million. Coming from a $128 billion company, this apparent penny-pinching did not impress the gasoline-buying public at all.
That Shell's actions were legal and Greenpeace's were not seemed to be entirely beside the point. In the eyes of many Europeans, Shell was morally wrong. Thousands of people protested outside its gas stations, and in Germany the Shell office reported a sales drop of between 20 and 50 percent after the scandal began-"the worst we have experienced," said the oil multinational's German head, Peter Duncan.25 A firebomb exploded at a Shell station in Hamburg ("Don't sink the Brent Spar Oil Platform" was the message left behind), and there was a drive-by shooting at a Frankfurt outlet. (No one was injured.) The unofficial boycott also spread through Britain to Denmark, Austria and the Netherlands. A firebomb exploded at a Shell station in Hamburg ("Don't sink the Brent Spar Oil Platform" was the message left behind), and there was a drive-by shooting at a Frankfurt outlet. (No one was injured.) The unofficial boycott also spread through Britain to Denmark, Austria and the Netherlands.
Four months after the protests began, on June 20, 1995, something unprecedented happened: Shell backed down. It would spend the extra millions to tow the platform to Norway, where it would be dismantled on land. According to The Wall Street Journal The Wall Street Journal, it was "a humiliating and painful U-turn."26 Grove-White articulates the extent of the Brent Spar victory: "For the first time, an environmental group had catalyzed international opinion to bring about the kind of change of policy that unsettled the very basis of executive authority. However briefly, the world turned upside down-the rule book had been rewritten." Grove-White articulates the extent of the Brent Spar victory: "For the first time, an environmental group had catalyzed international opinion to bring about the kind of change of policy that unsettled the very basis of executive authority. However briefly, the world turned upside down-the rule book had been rewritten."27 Before the Brent Spar campaign was launched, there had been internal battles within Greenpeace about whether the group could "sell" the disposal of an old industrial hunk of junk as a galvanizing, media-friendly issue. Dutch Greenpeace campaigner Giys Thieme recalls the concerns inside the organization: "It wasn't an oil campaign, it wasn't an atmosphere campaign, it wasn't a chlorine campaign."28 Neither was it a fight for fish, or whales, or even cute baby seals. Brent Spar, it turns out, was about the idea of preserving untouched space, just as the anti-logging protests in British Columbia's Clayoquot Sound a year earlier had been about protecting one of the last remaining stands of ancient, virgin forest. Clayoquot was about biodiversity, but it was also about preserving the idea of wilderness, and Brent Spar was much the same. Although Greenpeace presented scientific studies on the ecological impact the oil platform would have on the ocean floor (getting some of its facts wrong along the way), the fight was not so much about environmental protection in the traditional sense as it was about the need to keep the Atlantic Ocean floor from being used as a junkyard. Shell's plans to bury the monstrosity in the depths of the sea resonated in the public psyche worldwide: here was proof that if multinationals were left to their own devices, there would be no open space left on earth-even the depths of the ocean, the last great wilderness, would be colonized. Neither was it a fight for fish, or whales, or even cute baby seals. Brent Spar, it turns out, was about the idea of preserving untouched space, just as the anti-logging protests in British Columbia's Clayoquot Sound a year earlier had been about protecting one of the last remaining stands of ancient, virgin forest. Clayoquot was about biodiversity, but it was also about preserving the idea of wilderness, and Brent Spar was much the same. Although Greenpeace presented scientific studies on the ecological impact the oil platform would have on the ocean floor (getting some of its facts wrong along the way), the fight was not so much about environmental protection in the traditional sense as it was about the need to keep the Atlantic Ocean floor from being used as a junkyard. Shell's plans to bury the monstrosity in the depths of the sea resonated in the public psyche worldwide: here was proof that if multinationals were left to their own devices, there would be no open space left on earth-even the depths of the ocean, the last great wilderness, would be colonized.
Shell, the British government and much of the business press pointed out that this reaction was entirely irrational. "Science Loses to Joe Six-Pack" a headline in The Wall Street Journal The Wall Street Journal announced, while announced, while The Economist The Economist declared "A Defeat for Rational Decision Making." They were right, in a way. This concept of protecting the unknowable-for no empirical reason in the short term except that it comforts us that it is there-was indeed amorphous, but it was also powerful. As declared "A Defeat for Rational Decision Making." They were right, in a way. This concept of protecting the unknowable-for no empirical reason in the short term except that it comforts us that it is there-was indeed amorphous, but it was also powerful. As Guardian Guardian columnist Suzanne Moore wrote, Brent Spar had at least as much to do with mysticism as with science: "In the depths strange species lurk, and though we may never ever see them, we feel in our hearts that they should be left alone. Why must they share the great dark deep with bits and bobs from a dismembered oil platform?" columnist Suzanne Moore wrote, Brent Spar had at least as much to do with mysticism as with science: "In the depths strange species lurk, and though we may never ever see them, we feel in our hearts that they should be left alone. Why must they share the great dark deep with bits and bobs from a dismembered oil platform?"29 The lesson Greenpeace took away from its Brent Spar victory, writes Grove-White, was about the sanctity of "the global commons"-places not named on any map, not owned by any private interest and thus belonging to everybody. The group also learned another lesson, something the anti-Nike campaigners had also discovered: targeting a big, rich, ubiquitous multinational corporation is to the late nineties what saving the whales was to the late eighties. It is populist and it is popular, and it was enough to bring Greenpeace back from the brink of death. After Brent Spar, the group was showered with members and money and, as The Guardian The Guardian reported, it was even bequeathed estates. "One woman had phoned to say she had changed her will. 'Left all estate to Greenpeace,' says the note. Wants us to 'buy an inflatable with it and bash Shell.'" reported, it was even bequeathed estates. "One woman had phoned to say she had changed her will. 'Left all estate to Greenpeace,' says the note. Wants us to 'buy an inflatable with it and bash Shell.'"30 In its Brent Spar postmortem In its Brent Spar postmortem The Wall Street Journal The Wall Street Journal noted gravely that in the current climate, "economic warfare may be the best way to wage eco-warfare." noted gravely that in the current climate, "economic warfare may be the best way to wage eco-warfare."31 Shell's capitulation also provided activists with another lesson. After going to the wall defending the appropriateness and inescapability of Shell's original plan, Prime Minister John Major was left looking like a corporate lap dog-and an unloved one at that. When Shell reversed its position, Major could only mutter that the executives were "wimps" for caving in to public pressure. His position was so compromised that it may well have played a role in his decision, only two days after Shell's U-turn, to step down as head of the Conservative Party and force a vote on his leadership. In this way, Brent Spar proved that corporations-even a notoriously cagey and cloistered company like Royal Dutch/Shell-are sometimes as vulnerable to public pressure as democratically elected governments (occasionally more so).
The lesson proved particularly relevant in the next Shell challenge-the need to focus world attention on the multinational's role in the despoliation of Nigeria, under the protection of the corrupt government of the late General Sani Abacha. If the general wasn't vulnerable to pressure, Shell certainly was.
From the Ocean as Trash Pit to the Land as Oil Slick Since the 1950s, Shell Nigeria has extracted $30 billion worth of oil from the land of the Ogoni people, in the Niger Delta. Oil revenue makes up 80 percent of the Nigerian economy-$10 billion annually-and, of that, more than half comes from Shell. But not only have the Ogoni people been deprived of the profits from their rich natural resource, many still live without running water or electricity, and their land and water have been poisoned by open pipelines, oil spills and gas fires.
Under the leadership of the writer and Nobel Peace Prize nominee Ken Saro-Wiwa, the Movement for the Survival of the Ogoni People (MOSOP) campaigned for reform, and demanded compensation from Shell. In response, and in order to keep the oil profits flowing into the government's coffers, General Sani Abacha directed the Nigerian military to take aim at the Ogoni. They killed and tortured thousands. The Ogoni not only blamed Abacha for the attacks, they also accused Shell of treating the Nigerian military as a private police force, paying it to quash peaceful protest on Ogoni land, in addition to giving financial support and legitimacy to the Abacha regime.
Facing mounting protests within Nigeria, Shell withdrew from Ogoni land in 1993-a move that only put further pressure on the military to remove the Ogoni threat. A leaked memo from the head of the Rivers State Internal Security Force of the Nigerian Army was quite explicit: "Shell operations still impossible unless ruthless military operations are undertaken for smooth economic activities to commence.... Recommendations: Wasting operations during MOSOP and other gatherings making constant military presence justifiable. Wasting targets cutting across communities and leadership cadres especially vocal individuals of various groups."32 On May 10, 1994-five days after the memo was written-Ken Saro-Wiwa said, "This is it. They [the Nigerian military] are going to arrest us all and execute us. All for Shell."33 Twelve days later, he was arrested and tried for murder. Before receiving his sentence, Saro-Wiwa told the tribunal, "I and my colleagues are not the only ones on trial. Shell is here on trial.... The company has, indeed, ducked this particular trial, but its day will surely come." Then, on November 10, 1995-despite pressure from the international community, including the Canadian and Australian governments, and to a lesser extent the governments of Germany and France-the Nigerian military government executed Saro-Wiwa along with eight other Ogoni leaders who had protested against Shell. It became an international incident and, once again, people took their protests to their Shell stations, widely boycotting the company. In San Francisco Greenpeaceniks staged a re-enactment of Saro-Wiwa's murder, with the noose fastened around the towering Shell sign (see Twelve days later, he was arrested and tried for murder. Before receiving his sentence, Saro-Wiwa told the tribunal, "I and my colleagues are not the only ones on trial. Shell is here on trial.... The company has, indeed, ducked this particular trial, but its day will surely come." Then, on November 10, 1995-despite pressure from the international community, including the Canadian and Australian governments, and to a lesser extent the governments of Germany and France-the Nigerian military government executed Saro-Wiwa along with eight other Ogoni leaders who had protested against Shell. It became an international incident and, once again, people took their protests to their Shell stations, widely boycotting the company. In San Francisco Greenpeaceniks staged a re-enactment of Saro-Wiwa's murder, with the noose fastened around the towering Shell sign (see image image).
As Reclaim the Streets' John Jordan said of multinationals: "Inadvertently, they have helped us see the whole problem as one system." And here was that interconnected system in action: Shell, intent on sinking a monstrous oil platform off the coast of Britain, was simultaneously entangled in a human-rights debacle in Nigeria, in the same year that it laid off workers (despite earning huge profits), all so that it could pump gas into the cars of London-the very issue that had launched Reclaim the Streets. Because Ken Saro-Wiwa was a poet and playwright, his case was also claimed by the international freedom-of-expression group, PEN. Writers, including the English playwright Harold Pinter and the Nobel Prize-winning novelist Nadine Gordimer, took up the cause of Saro-Wiwa's right to express his views against Shell, and turned his persecution into the highest-profile free-expression case since the government of Iran declared a fatwa fatwa against Salman Rushdie, offering a bounty on his head. In an article for against Salman Rushdie, offering a bounty on his head. In an article for The New York Times The New York Times, Gordimer wrote that "to buy Nigeria's oil under the conditions that prevail is to buy oil in exchange for blood. Other people's blood; the exaction of the death penalty on Nigerians."34 The convergence of social-justice, labor and environmental issues in the two Shell campaigns was not a fluke-it goes to the very heart of the emerging spirit of global activism. Ken Saro-Wiwa was killed for fighting to protect his environment, but an environment that encompassed more than the physical landscape that was being ravaged and despoiled by Shell's invasion of the delta. Shell's mistreatment of Ogoni land is both an environmental and a social issue, because natural-resource companies are notorious for lowering their standards when they drill and mine in the Third World. Shell's opponents readily draw parallels between the company's actions in Nigeria, its history of collaborating with the former apartheid government in South Africa, its ongoing presence in the Timor Gap in Indonesian-occupied East Timor and its violent clashes with the Nahua people in the Peruvian Amazon-as well as its standoff with the U'wa people of the Colombian Andes, who threatened in January 1997 to commit mass suicide if Shell went ahead with its drilling plans.
In Saro-Wiwa, civil liberties came together with antiracism; anticapitalism with environmentalism; ecology with labor rights. The bright yellow bulbous logo of Shell-Saro-Wiwa's Goliath of an opponent-became a common enemy for all concerned citizens, to the extent that their governments around the world were required to put the matter on the international agenda. PEN protested against Shell, as did the campaign department at the Body Shop, the activist shareholders who placed the Ogoni plight on the agenda of three consecutive Shell annual meetings and thousands upon thousands of others. In June 1998, Owens Wiwa, Ken's brother, wrote this of the company's situation: For centuries, corporations have declared huge profits from evil practices like the trans-Atlantic slave trade, colonialism, Apartheid and [from] dictatorships whose actions are genocidal. They have often gotten away with their loot, leaving governments to apologize. In this case, at the twilight of the 20th century, Shell has been caught in the triangle of ecosystem destruction, human rights abuse and health impairment of the Ogoni people. An apology will not be enough. We anticipate a clean-up of our soil, water and air; adequate, fair and equitable compensation for (a) the environmental damages, (b) human rights abuses due directly and indirectly to Shell activities and (c) the negative health impacts their services have on the people.35 To hear Shell tell it, these reparations are already well under way. "Shell continues to invest in community and environmental projects in Nigeria," R.B. Blakely, a spokesperson for Shell Canada, informed me. "Last year, Shell spent $20 million establishing hospitals, schools, educational programs and scholarships" (MOSOP put the figure at closer to $9 million, and says only a fraction of this amount was spent on Ogoni land). The company has also, according to Blakely, revised its "statement of business principles. These principles, which include the company's environmental performance as well as its responsibilities to the communities where we operate, apply to all companies in the Shell Group in all parts of the world."36 To arrive at these principles, Shell has looked deep into its corporate psyche and has focus grouped and deconstructed itself into a pulp. It has put its employees through a kind of New Age-consultancy boot camp, resulting in some awfully silly displays from such a grand old firm. In the interest of reinvention, Shell executives, according to Fortune Fortune magazine, have "helped each other climb walls in the freezing Dutch rain. They've dug dirt at low-income housing projects and made videotapes of themselves walking around blindfolded. They've tracked their time to figure out whether they're adding any value. They've even taken Myers-Briggs personality tests to see who fits in at the new Shell and who doesn't." magazine, have "helped each other climb walls in the freezing Dutch rain. They've dug dirt at low-income housing projects and made videotapes of themselves walking around blindfolded. They've tracked their time to figure out whether they're adding any value. They've even taken Myers-Briggs personality tests to see who fits in at the new Shell and who doesn't."37 Part of Shell's image overhaul has involved reaching out to black communities in Europe and North America, a strategy that has created bitter divisions in poor neighborhoods that are desperate for funding but suspicious of Shell's motives. For instance, in August 1997, the Oakland School Board in California hotly debated the ethics of accepting a donation from Shell worth $2 million$100,000 for scholarships and the rest for the creation of a Shell Youth Training Academy. Since Oakland has a large African-American population that includes exiled Nigerians, the debate was wrenching. "Children in Nigeria don't have an opportunity to get a scholarship from Shell," said Tunde Okorodudu, an Oakland parent and a Nigerian pro-democracy activist. "We really need money for the children but we don't want blood money."38 After months of stalemate, the board (like the Portland School Board that debated whether or not to accept Nike's donation) eventually voted to accept the money. After months of stalemate, the board (like the Portland School Board that debated whether or not to accept Nike's donation) eventually voted to accept the money.
But even as the new Shell goes Zen, tossing around trendy management terms like the "new ethical paradigm," "change agents," the "third bottom line," and the "stakeholder economy," and even as Shell Nigeria speaks of "healing the wounds," the old Shell remains.39 Although it has not yet succeeded in returning to Ogoni land, Shell continues to operate in other parts of the Niger Delta, and in the fall of 1998 tensions in the area once again erupted. The issues were all too familiar: communities complained of polluted lands, devastated fisheries, gas fires and flaring, and of seeing enormous profits pumped out of their oil-rich land while they continued to live in poverty. "You go to the flow stations, you see they are very well equipped, with all modern facilities. You go to the neighboring village, there is no water to drink, no food to eat. That is bringing about the protests," explained Paul Orieware, a local politician. Although it has not yet succeeded in returning to Ogoni land, Shell continues to operate in other parts of the Niger Delta, and in the fall of 1998 tensions in the area once again erupted. The issues were all too familiar: communities complained of polluted lands, devastated fisheries, gas fires and flaring, and of seeing enormous profits pumped out of their oil-rich land while they continued to live in poverty. "You go to the flow stations, you see they are very well equipped, with all modern facilities. You go to the neighboring village, there is no water to drink, no food to eat. That is bringing about the protests," explained Paul Orieware, a local politician.40 Only this time, Shell was up against foes far less committed to nonviolence than the Ogoni. In October, Nigerian protestors seized two Shell helicopters, nine Shell relay stations and a drilling rig, halting, according to Associated Press, "the transfer of some 250,000 barrels of crude a day." Only this time, Shell was up against foes far less committed to nonviolence than the Ogoni. In October, Nigerian protestors seized two Shell helicopters, nine Shell relay stations and a drilling rig, halting, according to Associated Press, "the transfer of some 250,000 barrels of crude a day."41 More Shell stations were stormed and occupied in March 1999. Shell denied any wrongdoing and blamed the violence on ethnic conflicts. More Shell stations were stormed and occupied in March 1999. Shell denied any wrongdoing and blamed the violence on ethnic conflicts.
The Arches: The Fight for Choice At the same time as the anti-Shell campaigns were breaking out, the McLibel Trial, which had been in the docket for a few years already, was turning into an international situation. In June 1995, the trial was coming up to its first anniversary in court, when the two defendants, Helen Steel and Dave Morris, held a press conference outside the London courthouse. They announced that McDonald's (which had sued them for libel) had made a settlement offer. The company offered to donate money to a cause of Steel and Morris's choice if the two outspoken environmentalists on trial would stop criticizing McDonald's; then everyone would leave the whole messy nightmare behind them.
Steel and Morris defiantly refused the offer. They saw no reason to give in now. The trial, which had been designed to stem the flow of negative publicity-and to gag and bankrupt Steel and Morris-had been an epic public-relations disaster for McDonald's. It had done almost as much as mad cow disease to promote vegetarianism, had certainly done more to raise the issue of labor conditions in the McJob sector than any union drive and had sparked a more profound debate about corporate censorship than any other free-speech case in recent memory.
The pamphlet at the center of the suit was first published in 1986 by London Greenpeace, a splinter group of Greenpeace International (which the hardcore Londoners deemed too centralized and mainstream for their tastes). It was an early case study in using a single brand name to connect all the dots on the social agenda: issues of rain-forest depletion (to raise the cattle), Third World poverty (forcing peasants off their farms to make way for export crops and McDonald's livestock needs), animal cruelty (in treatment of the livestock), waste production (disposable packaging and litter), health (fried fatty foods), poor labor conditions (low wages and union busting in the McJob sector) and exploitative advertising (in McDonald's target marketing to children).
But the truth is, McLibel was never really about the contents of the pamphlet. In many ways, the case against McDonald's is less compelling than the ones against Nike and Shell, both of which are supported by hard evidence of large-scale human suffering. With McDonald's the evidence was less direct and, in some ways, the issues more dated. The concern about litter-producing fast-food restaurants reached its peak in the late eighties and London Greenpeace's campaign against the company clearly came from the standpoint of meat-is-murder vegetarianism: a valid perspective, but one for which there is a limited political constituency. What made McLibel take off as a campaign on a par with the ones targeting Nike and Shell was not what the fast-food chain did to cows, forests or even its own workers. The McLibel movement took off because of what McDonald's did to Helen Steel and Dave Morris.
Franny Armstrong, who produced a documentary about the trial, points out that Britain's libel law was changed in 1993 "so that governmental bodies such as local councils are no longer able to sue for libel. This was to protect people's right to criticize public bodies. Multinationals are fast becoming more powerful than governments-and even less accountable-so shouldn't the same rules apply? With advertising budgets in the billions, it's not as though they need to turn to the law to ensure their point of view is heard."42 In other words, for many of its supporters, Steel and Morris's case was less about the merits of fast food than about the need to protect freedom of speech in a climate of mounting corporate control. If Brent Spar was about loss of space, and Nike was about the loss of good jobs, McLibel was about loss of voice-it was about corporate censorship. In other words, for many of its supporters, Steel and Morris's case was less about the merits of fast food than about the need to protect freedom of speech in a climate of mounting corporate control. If Brent Spar was about loss of space, and Nike was about the loss of good jobs, McLibel was about loss of voice-it was about corporate censorship.
When McDonald's issued libel writs against five Greenpeace activists in 1990 over the contents of the now-notorious leaflet, three members of the group did what most people would do when faced with the prospect of going up against an $11 billion corporation: they apologized. The company had a long and successful history with this strategy. According to The Guardian The Guardian: "Over the past 15 years, McDonald's has threatened legal action against more than 90 organizations in the U.K., including the BBC, Channel 4, the Guardian Guardian, the Sun Sun, the Scottish TUC, the New Leaf Tea Shop, student newspapers and a children's theatre group. Even Prince Philip received a stiff letter. All of them backed down and many formally apologised in court."43 But Helen Steel and Dave Morris made another choice. They used the trial to launch a seven-year experiment in riding the golden arches around the global economy. For 313 days in court-the longest trial in English history-an unemployed postal worker (Morris) and a community gardener (Steel) went to war with chief executives from the largest food empire in the world.
Over the course of the trial, Steel and Morris meticulously elaborated every one of the pamphlet's claims, with the assistance of nutritional and environmental experts and scientific studies. With 180 witnesses called to the stand, the company endured humiliation after humiliation as the court heard stories of food poisoning, failure to pay legal overtime, bogus recycling claims and corporate spies sent to infiltrate the ranks of London Greenpeace. In one particularly telling incident, McDonald's executives were challenged on the company's claim that it serves "nutritious food": David Green, senior vice president of marketing, expressed his opinion that Coca-Cola is nutritious because it is "providing water, and I think that is part of a balanced diet."44 In another embarrassing exchange, McDonald's executive Ed Oakley explained to Steel that the McDonald's garbage stuffed into landfills is "a benefit, otherwise you will end up with lots of vast empty gravel pits all over the country." In another embarrassing exchange, McDonald's executive Ed Oakley explained to Steel that the McDonald's garbage stuffed into landfills is "a benefit, otherwise you will end up with lots of vast empty gravel pits all over the country."45
On June 19, 1997, the judge finally handed down the verdict. The courtroom was packed with an odd assortment of corporate executives, pink-haired vegan anarchists and rows of journalists. It felt like an eternity to most of us sitting there, as Judge Rodger Bell read out his forty-five-page ruling-a summary of the actual verdict, which was over a thousand pages long. Although the judge deemed most of the pamphlet's claims too hyperbolic to be acceptable (he was particularly unconvinced by its direct linking of McDonald's to "hunger in the 'Third World'"), he deemed others to be based on pure fact. Among the decisions that went in Steel and Morris's favor were that McDonald's "exploit(s) children" by "using them, as more susceptible subjects of advertising" that its treatment of some animals has been "cruel" that it is anti-union and pays "low wages" that its management can be "autocratic" and "most unfair" and that a consistent diet of McDonald's food contributes to the risk of heart disease. Steel and Morris were ordered to pay damages to McDonald's in the amount of US$95,490. But in March 1999 an appeals court judge found that Judge Bell had been overly harsh and sided more forcefully with Steel and Morris on the claims "concerning nutrition and health risks and on the allegations about pay and conditions for McDonald's employees." Still finding that their claims about food poisoning, cancer and world poverty were unproven, the court nonetheless lowered the amount of damages to $6l,300.46 McDonald's has never tried to collect its settlement and has decided not to apply for an injunction to halt the further dissemination of the leaflet. McDonald's has never tried to collect its settlement and has decided not to apply for an injunction to halt the further dissemination of the leaflet.
After the first verdict, McDonald's was quick to declare victory, but few were convinced. "Not since Pyrrhus has a victor emerged so bedraggled," read The Guardian The Guardian's editorial the next day. "As P.R. fiascos go, this action takes the prize for ill-judged and disproportionate response to public criticism."47 In fact, while all this was going on, the original pamphlet had gathered the cachet of a collector's item, with three million copies distributed in the U.K. alone. John Vidal had published his critically acclaimed book In fact, while all this was going on, the original pamphlet had gathered the cachet of a collector's item, with three million copies distributed in the U.K. alone. John Vidal had published his critically acclaimed book McLibel: Burger Culture on Trial; 60 Minutes McLibel: Burger Culture on Trial; 60 Minutes had produced a lengthy segment about the trial; England's Channel 4 had run a three-hour dramatization of it; and Franny Armstrong's documentary had produced a lengthy segment about the trial; England's Channel 4 had run a three-hour dramatization of it; and Franny Armstrong's documentary McLibel: Two Worlds Collide McLibel: Two Worlds Collide had made the rounds of the independent film circuit (having been turned down by every major broadcaster because of-ironically-libel concerns). had made the rounds of the independent film circuit (having been turned down by every major broadcaster because of-ironically-libel concerns).
For Helen Steel, Dave Morris and their supporters, McLibel was never solely about winning in court-it was about using the courts to win over the public. And judging by the crowds outside the McDonald's outlets two days after the verdict came down, they had every right to be declaring victory. Standing outside their neighborhood McDonald's in North London on a Saturday afternoon, Steel and Morris could barely keep up with the demand for "What's wrong with McDonald's?" the leaflet that started it all. Passersby requested copies, drivers pulled over to get their McLibel mementos and mothers with toddlers stopped to talk to Helen Steel about how difficult it can be for a busy parent when her child demands unhealthy food-what can a mother do?
Across the United Kingdom, a similar scene was playing itself out at more than five hundred McDonald's outlets, all of which were simultaneously picketed on June 21, 1997, along with thirty in North America. As with the Nike protests, every event was different. At one British franchise, the community put on a street performance featuring an ax-wielding Ronald McDonald, a cow and lots of ketchup. At another, people passed out free vegetarian food. At all of them, supporters handed out the famous leaflet: 400,000 copies that weekend alone. "They were flying out of their hands," said Dan Mills of the McLibel Support Campaign, amused at the irony: before McDonald's decided to sue, London Greenpeace's campaign was winding down, and only a few hundred copies of the contentious leaflet had ever been distributed. It has now been translated into twenty-six languages and is one of the hottest properties in cyberspace.
Lessons of the Big Three: Use the Courts as a Tool It's a good bet that many brand-name giants besides McDonald's have paid close attention to the goings-on in that British courtroom. In 1996, Guess dropped a libel suit it had launched against the L.A. women's group Common Threads, in response to a poetry reading about the plight of garment workers sewing Guess jeans.48 Similarly, though Nike consistently accuses its critics of fabrication, it has stayed away from trying to clear its name in court. And no wonder: the courtroom is the only place where private corporations are forced to open shuttered windows and let the public look in. Similarly, though Nike consistently accuses its critics of fabrication, it has stayed away from trying to clear its name in court. And no wonder: the courtroom is the only place where private corporations are forced to open shuttered windows and let the public look in.
As Helen Steel and Dave Morris write, If companies do choose to use oppressive laws against their critics then court cases do not have to only be about legal procedures and verdicts. They can be turned into a public forum and focus for protest, and for the wider dissemination of the truth. This is what happened with McLibel...Maybe for the first time in history, a powerful institution (it just happened to be a fast-food chain, but in some ways could've been any financial organization or state department) was subject to lengthy, detailed and critical public scrutiny. That can only be a good thing!49 The message has not been lost on Steel and Morris's fellow activists around the world; everyone who followed McLibel saw how effective a long, dramatic trial could be at building up a body of evidence and stoking sentiment against a corporate opponent. Some campaigners, not waiting to be sued themselves, are taking their corporate opponents to court instead. For instance, in January 1999, when U.S. labor activists decided they wanted to draw attention to the ongoing sweatshop violations in the U.S. territory of Saipan, they launched an unconventional lawsuit in California court against seventeen American retailers, including the Gap and Tommy Hilfiger. The suit, filed on behalf of thousands of Saipan garment workers, accuses the brand-name retailers and manufacturers of participating in a "racketeering conspiracy" in which young women from Southeast Asia are lured to Saipan with promises of well-paid jobs in the United States. What they get instead is wage cheating and "America's worst sweatshop," in the words of Al Meyerhoff, lead attorney on the case. A companion lawsuit further alleges that by labeling goods from Saipan "Made in the U.S.A." or "Made in the Northern Marianas, U.S.A.," the companies are engaging in false advertising, leaving customers with the impression that the manufacturers were subject to U.S. labor laws, when they were not.50 Meanwhile, the Center for Constitutional Rights has taken a similar tack with Royal Dutch/Shell, filing a federal lawsuit against the company in a New York court on the first anniversary of Ken Saro-Wiwa's death. According to the Center's David A. Love, "The suit-filed on behalf of Ken Saro-Wiwa and the other Ogoni activists who were executed by Nigeria's military regime in November 1995-alleges that the executions were carried out with 'the knowledge, consent, and/or support' of Shell Oil." It further alleges that the hangings were part of a conspiracy "to violently and ruthlessly suppress any opposition to Royal Dutch/Shell's conduct in its exploitation of oil and natural gas resources in Ogoni and in the Niger Delta." Shell denies the charges and is challenging the legitimacy of the suit. At the time of writing, neither the Saipan case nor the Shell case had been settled.51 Lessons of the Big Three: Use the Net to Shine a McSpotlight If the courts are becoming a popular tool to pry open closed corporations, it is the Internet that has rapidly become the tool of choice for spreading information about multinationals around the world. All three of the campaigns described in this chapter have distinguished themselves by a pioneering use of information technologies, an approach that continues to unnerve their corporate targets.
Each day, information about Nike flows freely via E-mail between the U.S. National Labor Committee and Campaign for Labor Rights; the Dutchbased Clean Clothes Campaign; the Australian Fairwear Campaign; the Hong Kong-based Asian Monitoring and Resource Centre; the British Labour Behind the Label Coalition and Christian Aid; the French Agir lci and Artisans du Monde; the German Werkstatt Okonomie; the Belgian Les Magasins de Monde; and the Canadian Maquila Solidarity Network-to name but a few of the players. In a September 1997 press release, Nike attacked its critics as "fringe groups, which are again using the Internet and fax modems to promote mistruths and distortions for their own purposes." But by March 1998, Nike was ready to treat its on-line critics with a little more respect. In explaining why it had just introduced yet another package of labor reforms, company spokesman Vada Manager said, "You make changes because it's the right thing to do. But obviously our actions have clearly been accelerated because of the World Wide Web."52 Shell was similarly humbled by the mobility of both the Brent Spar campaign and the Ogoni support movement. Natural-resource companies had grown accustomed to dealing with activists who could not escape the confines of their nationhood: a pipeline or mine could spark a peasants' revolt in the Philippines or the Congo, but it would remain contained, reported only by the local media and known only to people in the area. But today, every time Shell sneezes, a report goes out on the hyperactive "shell-nigeria-action" listserve, bouncing into the in-boxes of all the far-flung organizers involved in the campaign, from Nigerian leaders living in exile to student activists around the world. And when a group of activists occupied part of Shell's U.K. headquarters in January 1999, they made sure to bring a digital camera with a cellular linkup, allowing them to broadcast their sit-in on the Web, even after Shell officials turned off the electricity and phones.
Shell has responded to the rise of Net activism with an aggressive Internet strategy of its own: in 1996, it hired Simon May, a twenty-nine-year-old "Internet manager." According to May, "There has been a shift in the balance of power, activists are no longer entirely dependent on the existing media. Shell learned it the hard way with the Brent Spar, when a lot of information was disseminated outside the regular channels."53 But if the power balance has shifted, it is May's job to shift it back in Shell's favor: he oversees the monitoring of all on-line mentions of the company, responds to E-mail queries about social issues and has helped to establish Shell's on-line "social concerns" discussion forum on the company Web site. But if the power balance has shifted, it is May's job to shift it back in Shell's favor: he oversees the monitoring of all on-line mentions of the company, responds to E-mail queries about social issues and has helped to establish Shell's on-line "social concerns" discussion forum on the company Web site.
Big companies are big targets...Thousands of companies are or have been the targets of anti-corporate activism online. With WeberWorks/Monitor powered by eWatch, not only will WeberWorks/Monitor clients be alerted when they become a target, they will also receive critical insights for how to effectively handle the situation.-James M. Alexander, president of eWatch an Internet monitoring company, May 1998 The Internet played a similar role during the McLibel Trial, catapulting London's grassroots anti-McDonald's movement into an arena as global as the one in which its multinational opponent operates. "We had so much information about McDonald's, we thought we should start a library," Dave Morris explains, and with this in mind, a group of Internet activists launched the McSpotlight Web site. The site not only has the controversial pamphlet online, it contains the complete 20,000-page transcript of the trial, and offers a debating room where McDonald's workers can exchange horror stories about McWork under the Golden Arches. The site, one of the most popular destinations on the Web, has been accessed approximately sixty-five million times.54 Ben, one of the studiously low-profile programmers for McSpotlight told me that "this is a medium that doesn't require campaigners to jump through hoops doing publicity stunts, or depend on the good will of an editor to get their message across."55 It's also less vulnerable to libel suits than more traditional media. Ben explains that while McSpotlight's server is located in the Netherlands, it has "mirror sites" in Finland, the U.S., New Zealand and Australia. That means that if a server in one country is targeted by McDonald's lawyers, the site will still be available around the world from the other mirrors. In the meantime, everyone visiting the site is invited to give their opinion on whether or not McSpotlight will get sued. "Is McSpotlight next in court? Click on yes or no." It's also less vulnerable to libel suits than more traditional media. Ben explains that while McSpotlight's server is located in the Netherlands, it has "mirror sites" in Finland, the U.S., New Zealand and Australia. That means that if a server in one country is targeted by McDonald's lawyers, the site will still be available around the world from the other mirrors. In the meantime, everyone visiting the site is invited to give their opinion on whether or not McSpotlight will get sued. "Is McSpotlight next in court? Click on yes or no."
Once again, the broader corporate world is scrambling to learn the lessons of these campaigns. Speaking in Brussels at a June 1998 conference on the growing power of anticorporate groups, Peter Verhille of the PR firm Entente International noted that "one of the major strengths of pressure groups-in fact the leveling factor in their confrontation with powerful companies-is their ability to exploit the instruments of the telecommunication revolution. Their agile use of global tools such as the Internet reduces the advantage that corporate budgets once provided."56 Indeed, the beauty of the Net for activists is that it allows coordinated international actions with minimal resources and bureaucracy. For instance, for the International Nike Days of Action, local activists simply download information pamphlets from the Campaign for Labor Rights Web site to hand out at their protests, then file detailed E-mail reports from Sweden, Australia, the U.S. and Canada, which are then forwarded to all participating groups. Indeed, the beauty of the Net for activists is that it allows coordinated international actions with minimal resources and bureaucracy. For instance, for the International Nike Days of Action, local activists simply download information pamphlets from the Campaign for Labor Rights Web site to hand out at their protests, then file detailed E-mail reports from Sweden, Australia, the U.S. and Canada, which are then forwarded to all participating groups.
A similar electronic clearinghouse model was used to coordinate both the Reclaim the Streets global street parties and the picketing outside McDonald's outlets after the McLibel verdict. The McSpotlight programmers posted a list of all 793 McDonald's franchises in Britain and in the weeks before the verdict came down, local activists signed up to "adopt a store (and teach it some respect)" on the day of protest. More than half were adopted. I had been following all of this closely from Canada, but when I finally got a chance to see the London headquarters of the McLibel Support Campaign-the hub from which hundreds of political actions had been launched around the world, linking up thousands of protestors and becoming a living archive for all things anti-McDonald's-I was shocked. In my mind, I had pictured an office crammed with people tapping away on high-tech equipment. I should have known better: McLibel's head office is nothing more than a tiny room at the back of a London flat with graffiti in the stairwells. The office walls are papered in subvertisements and anarchist agitprop. Helen Steel, Dave Morris, Dan Mills and a few dozen volunteers had gone head to head with McDonald's for seven years with a rickety PC, an old modem, one telephone and a fax machine. Dan Mills apologized to me for the absence of an extra chair.
Tony Juniper of Britain's environmental group Friends of the Earth calls the Internet "the most potent weapon in the toolbox of resistance."57 That may well be so, but the Net is more than an organizing tool-it has become an organizing model, a blueprint for decentralized but cooperative decision making. It facilitates the process of information sharing to such a degree that many groups can work in concert with one another without the need to achieve monolithic consensus (which is often impossible, anyway, given the nature of activist organizations). And because it is so decentralized, these movements are still in the process of forging links with their various wings around the world, continually surprising themselves with how far unreported little victories have traveled, how thoroughly bits of research have been recycled and absorbed. These movements are only now starting to feel their own reach and, as the students and local communities profiled in the next chapter will show, their own power. That may well be so, but the Net is more than an organizing tool-it has become an organizing model, a blueprint for decentralized but cooperative decision making. It facilitates the process of information sharing to such a degree that many groups can work in concert with one another without the need to achieve monolithic consensus (which is often impossible, anyway, given the nature of activist organizations). And because it is so decentralized, these movements are still in the process of forging links with their various wings around the world, continually surprising themselves with how far unreported little victories have traveled, how thoroughly bits of research have been recycled and absorbed. These movements are only now starting to feel their own reach and, as the students and local communities profiled in the next chapter will show, their own power.
Chapter Seventeen.
Local Foreign Policy Students and Communities Join the Fray Pretty soon we'll have to do our own offshore drilling.
-Berkeley, California, city councilor Polly Armstrong on her council's decision to outlaw municipal gasoline purchases from all the major oil companies "Okay. I need people on each door. Let's go!" shouted Sean Hayes in the distinctive clipped baritone of a high-school basketball coach, which, as it happens, he is. "Let's go!" Coach Hayes bellowed again, clapping his meaty hands loud enough for the sound to bounce off the walls of the huge gymnasium of St. Mary's Secondary School in Pickering, Ontario (a town best known for its proximity to a nuclear power plant of questionable quality).
Hayes had invited me to participate in the school's first "Sweatshop Fashion Show," an event he began planning when he discovered that the basketball team's made-in-lndonesia Nike sneakers had likely been manufactured under sweatshop conditions. He's an unapologetic jock with a conscience and, together with a handful of do-gooder students, had organized today's event to get the other two thousand kids at St. Mary's to think about the clothes they wear in terms beyond "cool" or "lame."
The plan was simple: as student models decked out in logowear strutted down a makeshift runway, another student off to the side would read a prepared narration about the lives of the Third World workers who made the gear. The students would quickly follow that with scenes from Mickey Mouse Goes to Haiti Mickey Mouse Goes to Haiti and a skit about how teenagers often feel "unloved, unwanted, unacceptable and unpopular if you do not have the right clothes." My part would come at the end, when I was to give a short speech about my research in export processing zones, and then facilitate a question-and-answer period. It sounded straightforward enough. and a skit about how teenagers often feel "unloved, unwanted, unacceptable and unpopular if you do not have the right clothes." My part would come at the end, when I was to give a short speech about my research in export processing zones, and then facilitate a question-and-answer period. It sounded straightforward enough.
While we were waiting for the bell to ring and the students to stream in, Hayes turned to me and said, with a forced smile: "I hope the kids actually hear the message and don't think it's just a regular fashion show." Having read the students' prepared narration I couldn't help thinking that his concern sounded, frankly, paranoid. True, fashion shows have become such a high-school stalwart that they now rival car washes as the prom fundraiser of choice. But did Hayes actually think his students were so heartless that they could listen to testimony about starvation wages and physical abuse and expect that the clothing in question would be on sale at a discount after the assembly? Just then, a couple of teenage boys poked their heads in the door and checked out the frantic preparations. "Yo, guys," one of them said. "I'm guessing fashion show-this should be a joke." Coach Hayes looked nervous.
As two thousand students piled onto the bleachers, the room came alive with the giddiness that accompanies all mass reprieves from class, whether for school plays, AIDS education lectures, teachers' strikes or fire alarms. A quick scan of the room turned up no logos on these kids, but that was definitely not by choice. St. Mary's is a Catholic school and the students wear uniforms-bland affairs that they were nonetheless working for all they were worth. It's hard to make gray flannel slacks and acrylic navy sweaters look like gangsta gear but the guys were doing their best, wearing their pants pulled down halfway to their knees with patterned boxer shorts bunched over their belts. The girls were pushing the envelope too, pairing their drab tunics with platform loafers and black lipstick.
As it turned out, Coach Hayes's concerns were well founded. As the hip-hop started playing and the first kids bounded down the runway in Nike shoes and workout wear, the assembly broke into cheers and applause. The moment the young woman saddled with reading the earnest voice-over began, "Welcome to the world of Nike..." she was drowned out by hoots and whistles. It didn't take much to figure out that they weren't cheering for her but rather at the mere mention of the word Nike-everyone's favorite celebrity brand.
Waiting for my cue, I was ready to flee the modern teenage world forever, but after some booming threats from Coach Hayes, the crowd finally quieted down. My speech was at least not booed and the discussion that followed was among the liveliest I've ever witnessed. The first question (as at all Sweatshop 101 events) was "What brands are sweatshop-free?"-Adidas? they asked. Reebok? The Gap? I told the St. Mary's students that shopping for an exploitation-free wardrobe at the mall is next to impossible, given the way all the large brands produce. The best way to make a difference, I told them, is to stay informed by surfing the Net, and by letting companies know what you think by writing letters and asking lots of questions at the store. The St. Mary's kids were deeply skeptical of this non-answer. "Look, I don't have time to be some kind of major political activist every time I go to the mall," one girl said, right hand planted firmly on right hip. "Just tell me what kind of shoes are okay to buy, okay?"
Another girl, who looked about sixteen, sashayed to the microphone. "I'd just like to say that this is capitalism, okay, and people are allowed to make money and if you don't like it maybe you're just jealous."
The hands shot up in response. "No, I'd I'd just like to say that you are totally screwed up and just because everyone is doing something doesn't mean it's right-you've got to stand up for what you believe in instead of just standing in front of the mirror trying to look good!" just like to say that you are totally screwed up and just because everyone is doing something doesn't mean it's right-you've got to stand up for what you believe in instead of just standing in front of the mirror trying to look good!"
After watching thousands of Ricki and Oprah episodes, these kids take to the talk-show format as naturally as Elizabeth Dole. Just as they had cheered for Nike moments before, the students now cheered for each other-dog-pound style, with lots of "you-go-girls." Moments before the bell for next period, Coach Hayes made time for one last question. A boy in saggy slacks sauntered across the gym holding his standard-issue navy blue sweater away from his lanky body with two fingers, as if he detected a foul odor. Then, he slouched down to the mike and said, in an impeccable teenage monotone, "Umm, Coach Hayes, if working conditions are so bad in Indonesia, then why do we have to wear these uniforms? We buy thousands of these things and it says right here that they are 'Made in Indonesia.' I'd just like to know, how do you know they weren't made in sweatshops?"
The auditorium exploded. It was a serious burn. Another student rushed to the mike and suggested that the students should try to find out who makes their uniforms, a project for which there was no shortage of volunteers. When I left St. Mary's that day, the school had its work cut out for it.
There's no denying that the motivation behind the St. Mary's students' newfound concern over Indonesian labor conditions was that they had just discovered a high-minded excuse to refuse to wear their lame-ass uniforms-not an entirely selfless concern. But even if it was inadvertent, they had also stumbled across one of the most powerful levers being used to pry reform out of seemingly amoral multinational corporations.
When high schools, universities, places of worship, unions, city councils and other levels of government apply ethical standards to their bulk purchasing decisions, it takes anticorporate campaigning a significant step beyond the mostly symbolic warfare of adbusting and superstore protesting. Such community institutions are not only collections of individual consumers, they are also consumers themselves-and powerful ones at that. Thousands of schools like St. Mary's ordering thousands of uniforms each-it adds up to a lot of uniforms. They also buy sports equipment for their teams, food for their cafeterias and drinks for their vending machines. Municipal governments buy uniforms for their police forces, gas for their garbage trucks and computers for their offices; and they also invest their pension funds on the stock market. Universities, for their part, select telecommunications companies for their Internet portals, use banks to hold their money and invest endowments that can represent billions of dollars. And, of course, they are also increasingly involved in direct sponsorship arrangements with corporations. Most important, bulk institutional purchases and sponsorship deals are among the most sought after contracts in the marketplace, and corporations are forever trying to outbid one another to land them.
What all these business arrangements have in common is that they exist at a distinctive intersection between civic life (ostensibly governed by principles of "public good") and the corporate profit-making motive. When corporations sponsor an event on a university campus or sign a deal with a municipal government, they cross an important line between private and public space-a line that is not part of a consumer's interaction with a corporation as an individual shopper. We don't expect morality at the mall but, to some extent, we do still expect it in our public spaces-in our schools, national parks and municipal playgrounds.
So while it may be cold comfort to some, there is a positive side effect of the fact that, increasingly, private corporations are staking a claim to these public spaces. Over the past four years, there has been a collective realization among many public, civic and religious institutions that having a multinational corporation as a guest in your house-whether as a supplier or a sponsor-presents an important political opportunity. With their huge buying power, public and non-profit institutions can exert real public-interest pressure on otherwise freewheeling private corporations. This is nowhere more true than in the schools and universities.
Students Teach the Brands a Lesson As we have already seen, soft-drink, sneaker and fast-food companies have been forging a flurry of exclusive logo allegiances with high schools, colleges and universities. Like the Olympic games, many universities have "official" airlines, banks, long-distance carriers and computer suppliers. For the sponsoring companies, these exclusive arrangements offer opportunities to foster warm and fuzzy logo loyalties during those formative college years-not to mention a chance to pick up some quasi-academic legitimacy. (Being the official supplier of a top-flight university sounds almost as if a panel of tenured professors got together and scientifically determined that Coke Is It! or Our Fries Are Crispier! For some lucky corporations, it can be like getting an honorary degree.) However, these same corporations have at times discovered that there can be an unanticipated downside to these "partnerships": that the sense of ownership that goes along with sponsoring is not always the kind of passive consumer allegiance that the companies had bargained for. In a climate of mounting concern about corporate ethics, students are finding that a great way to grab the attention of aloof multinationals is to kick up a fuss about the extracurricular activities of their university's official brand-whether Coke, Pepsi, Nike, McDonald's, Starbucks or Northern Telecom. Rather than simply complaining about amorphous "corporatization," young activists have begun to use their status as sought-after sponsorees to retaliate against forces they considered invasive on their campuses to begin with. In this volatile context, a particularly aggressive sponsorship deal can act as a political catalyst, instigating wide-ranging debate on everything from unfair labor conditions to trading with dictators. Just ask Pepsi.
Pepsi (as we saw in Chapter 4) has been at the forefront of the drive to purchase students as a captive market. Its exclusive vending arrangements have paved the way for copycat deals, and fast-food outlets owned by PepsiCo were among the first to establish a presence in high schools and on university campuses in North America. One of Pepsi's first campus vending deals was with Ottawa's Carleton University in 1993. Since marketing on campus was still somewhat jarring back then, many students were immediately resentful at being forced into this tacit product endorsement, and were determined not to give their official drink a warm welcome. Members of the university's chapter of the Public Interest and Research Group-a network of campus social-justice organizations stretching across North America known as PIRGs-discovered that PepsiCo was producing and selling its soft drinks in Burma, the brutal dictatorship now called Myanmar. The Carleton students weren't sure how to deal with the information, so they posted a notice about Pepsi's involvement in Burma on a few on-line bulletin boards that covered student issues. Gradually, other universities where Pepsi was the official drink started requesting more information. Pretty soon, the Ottawa group had developed and distributed hundreds of "campus action kits," with pamphlets, petitions, and "Gotta Boycott" and "Pepsi, Stuff It" stickers. "How can you help free Burma?" one pamphlet asks. "Pressure schools to terminate food or beverage contracts selling PepsiCo products until it leaves Burma."
Many students did just that. As a result, in April 1996 Harvard rejected a proposed $1 million vending deal with Pepsi, citing the company's Burma holdings. Stanford University cost Pepsi an estimated $800,000 when a petition signed by two thousand students blocked the construction of a PepsiCo-owned Taco Bell restaurant. The stakes were even higher in Britain where campus soft-drink contracts are coordinated centrally through the National Union of Students' services wing. "Pepsi had just beat out Coke for the contract," recalls Guy Hughes, a campaigner with the London-based group Third World First. "Pepsi was being sold in eight hundred student unions across the U.K., so we used the consortium as a lever to pressure Pepsi. When [the student union] met with the company, one factor for Pepsi was that the boycott had become international."1 Aung San Suu Kyi, the leader of Burma's opposition party that was elected to power in 1990, only to be prevented from taking office by the military, has offered encouragement to this nascent movement. In 1997, in a speech read by her husband (who has since died) at the American University in Washington, D.C., she singled out students in the call to put pressure on multinational corporations that are invested in Burma. "Please use your liberty to promote ours," she said. "Take a principled stand against companies which are doing business with the military regime of Burma."2 After the campus boycotts made it into The New York Times The New York Times, Pepsi sold its shares in a controversial Burmese bottling plant whose owner, Thien Tun, had publicly called for Suu Kyi's democracy movement to be "ostracized and crushed." Student activists, however, dismissed the move as a "paper shuffle" because Pepsi products were still being sold and produced in Burma. Finally, facing continued pressure, Pepsi announced its "total disengagement" from Burma on January 24, 1997. When Zar Ni, the coordinator of the American student movement, heard the news, he sent an E-mail out on the Free Burma Coalition listserve: "We finally tied the Pepsi Animal down! We did it!! We all did it!!!...We now KNOW we have the grassroots power to yank one of the most powerful corporations in the world."
If there is a moral to this story, it is that Pepsi's drive to capture the campus market landed the company at the center of a debate in which it had no desire to participate. It wanted university students to be its poster children-its real live Generation Next-but instead, the students turned the tables and made Pepsi the poster corporation for their campus Free Burma movement. Sein Win, a leader in exile of Burma's elected National League for Democracy, observed that "PepsiCo very much takes care of its image. It wanted to press the drink's image as 'the taste of a young generation,' so when the young generation participates in boycotts, it hurts the effort."3 Simon Billenness, an ethical investment specialist who spearheaded the Burma campaign, is more blunt: "Pepsi," he says, "was under siege from its own target market." Simon Billenness, an ethical investment specialist who spearheaded the Burma campaign, is more blunt: "Pepsi," he says, "was under siege from its own target market."4 And Reid Cooper, coordinator of the Carleton University campaign, notes that without Pepsi's thirst for campus branding, Burma's plight might never have become an issue on campuses. "Pepsi tried to go into the schools," he tells me in an interview, "and from there it was spontaneous combustion." And Reid Cooper, coordinator of the Carleton University campaign, notes that without Pepsi's thirst for campus branding, Burma's plight might never have become an issue on campuses. "Pepsi tried to go into the schools," he tells me in an interview, "and from there it was spontaneous combustion."
Not surprisingly, the Pepsi victory has emboldened the Free Burma campaign on the campuses. The students have adopted the slogan "Burma: South Africa of the Nineties" and claim to be "The largest human rights campaign in cyberspace."5 Today, more than one hundred colleges and twenty high schools around the world are part of the Free Burma Coalition. The extent to which the country's liberty has become a student cause celebre became apparent when, in August 1998, eighteen foreign activists-most of them university students-were arrested in Rangoon for handing out leaflets expressing support for Burma's democracy movement. Not surprisingly, the event caught the attention of the international media. The court sentenced the activists to five years of hard labor, but at the last minute deported them instead of imprisoning them. Today, more than one hundred colleges and twenty high schools around the world are part of the Free Burma Coalition. The extent to which the country's liberty has become a student cause celebre became apparent when, in August 1998, eighteen foreign activists-most of them university students-were arrested in Rangoon for handing out leaflets expressing support for Burma's democracy movement. Not surprisingly, the event caught the attention of the international media. The court sentenced the activists to five years of hard labor, but at the last minute deported them instead of imprisoning them.
Other student campaigns have focused on different corporations and different dictators. With Pepsi out of Burma, attention began to shift on campuses to Coca-Cola's investments in Nigeria. At Kent State University and other schools where Coke won the campus cola war, students argued that Coke's high-profile presence in Nigeria offered an air of legitimacy to the country's illegitimate military regime (which, at the time, was still in power). Once again, the issue of Nigerian human rights might never have reached much beyond KSU's Amnesty International Club, but because Coke and the school had entered into a sponsorship-style arrangement, the campaign took off and students began shouting that their university had blood on its hands.
There have also been a number of food fights, most of them related to McDonald's expanding presence on college campuses. In 1997, the British National Union of Students entered into an agreement with McDonald's to distribute "privilege cards" to all undergraduates in the U.K. When students showed the card, they got a free cheeseburger every time they ordered a Big Mac, fries and drink. But campus environmentalists opposed the deal, forcing the student association to bow out of the marketing alliance in March 1998. In providing its reasons for the change of heart, the association cited the company's "anti-union practices, exploitation of employees, its contribution to the destruction of the environment, animal cruelty and the promotion of unhealthy food products"-all carefully worded references to the McLibel judge's findings.6 As the brand backlash spreads, students are beginning to question not only sponsorship arrangements with the likes of McDonald's and Pepsi, but also the less flashy partnerships that their universities have with the private sector. Whether it's bankers on the board of governors, corporate-endowed professorships or the naming of campus buildings after benefactors, all are facing scrutiny from a more economically politicized student body. British students have stepped up a campaign to pressure their universities to stop accepting grant money from the oil industry, and in British Columbia, the University of Victoria Senate voted in November 1998 to refuse scholarship money from Shell. This agenda of corporate resistance is gradually becoming more structured, as students from across North America come together at annual conferences such as the 1997 "Democracy Teach-In: Campus Democracy vs. Corporate Control" at the University of Chicago, where they attend seminars like "Research: For People or Profit?" "Investigating Your Campus" and "What Is a Corporation and Why Is There a Problem?" In June 1999, student activists again came together, this time in Toledo, Ohio, in the newly formed Student Alliance to Reform Corporations. The purpose of the gathering was to launch a national campaign to force universities to invest their money only with companies that respect human rights and do not degrade the environment.
It should come as no surprise that by far the most controversial campus-corporate partnerships have been ones involving that most controversial of companies: Nike. Since the shoe industry's use of sweatshop labor became common knowledge, the deals that Nike had signed with hundreds of athletic departments in universities have become among the most contentious issues on campuses today, with "Ban the Swoosh" buttons rivaling women's symbols as the undergraduate accessory of choice. And in what Nike must see as the ultimate slap in the face, college campuses where the company has paid out millions of dollars to sponsor sports teams (University of North Carolina, Duke University, Stanford, Penn State and Arizona State, to name just a few) have become the hottest spots of the international anti-Nike campaign. According to the Campaign for Labor Rights, "These contracts, which are a centerpiece of Nike marketing, have now turned into a public relations nightmare for the company. Nike's aggressive campus marketing has now been forced into a defensive posture."7 At the University of Arizona, students attempted to get their university president to reconsider the school's endorsement of Nike products by delivering a pile of old Nike shoes to his office (followed by cameras from two local television stations). According to a student organizer, James Tracy, "each pair of shoes had a tale of Nike's abuse attached to them for the president to consider."8 At Stanford University, similar protests greeted the athletic department's decision to sign a four-year, $5 million contract with Nike. In fact, bashing Nike has become such a popular sport on campus that at Florida State University-a major jock college-a group of students built an anti-Nike float for the 1997 homecoming parade. At Stanford University, similar protests greeted the athletic department's decision to sign a four-year, $5 million contract with Nike. In fact, bashing Nike has become such a popular sport on campus that at Florida State University-a major jock college-a group of students built an anti-Nike float for the 1997 homecoming parade.
Most of these universities are locked into multiyear sponsorship deals with Nike, but at the University of California at Irvine, students went after the company when its contract with the women's basketball team was up for renewal. Faced with mounting pressure from the student body, the school's athletic department decided to switch to Converse. On another campus, soccer coach Kim Keady was unable to persuade his employer, St. John's University, to stop forcing its team to use Nike gear. So, in the summer of 1998, he quit his job as assistant coach in protest.9 University of North Carolina student Marion Traub-Werner explains the appeal of this new movement: "Obviously there's the labor issue. But we're also concerned about Nike's intrusion into our campus culture. The swoosh is everywhere-in addition to all the uniforms, it's on the game schedules, it's on all the posters and it dominates the clothing section in the campus store."10 Like no other company, Nike has branded this generation, and so if students now have the chance to brand Nike as an exploiter-well, the chance is too good to pass up. Like no other company, Nike has branded this generation, and so if students now have the chance to brand Nike as an exploiter-well, the chance is too good to pass up.
The Real Brand U While many campuses are busily taking on the brand-name interlopers, others are realizing that their universities are themselves brand names. Ivy League universities, and colleges with all-star sports teams, have extensive clothing lines, several of which rival the market share of many commercial designers. They also share many of the same labor problems. In 1998, the UNITE garment workers union published a report on the BJ&B factory in an export processing zone in the Dominican Republic. Workers at BJ&B, one of the world's largest manufacturers of baseball hats, embroider the school logos and crests of at least nine large American universities, including Cornell, Duke, Georgetown, Harvard and University of Michigan. The conditions at BJ&B were signature free-trade-zone ones: long hours of forced overtime, fierce union busting (including layoffs of organizers), short-term contracts, paychecks insufficient to feed a family, pregnancy tests, sexual harassment, abusive management, unsafe drinking water and huge markups (while the hats sold, on average, for $19.95, workers saw only 8 cents of that).11 And of course, most of the workers were young women, a fact that was brought home when the union sponsored a trip to the U.S. for two former employees of the factory: nineteen-year-old Kenia Rodriguez and twenty-year-old Roselio Reyes. The two workers visited many of the universities whose logos they used to stitch on caps, speaking to gatherings of students who were exactly their age. "In the name of the 2,050 workers in this factory, and the people in this town, we ask for your support," Reyes said to an audience of students at the University of Illinois. And of course, most of the workers were young women, a fact that was brought home when the union sponsored a trip to the U.S. for two former employees of the factory: nineteen-year-old Kenia Rodriguez and twenty-year-old Roselio Reyes. The two workers visited many of the universities whose logos they used to stitch on caps, speaking to gatherings of students who were exactly their age. "In the name of the 2,050 workers in this factory, and the people in this town, we ask for your support," Reyes said to an audience of students at the University of Illinois.12 These revelations about factory conditions were hardly surprising. College licensing is big business, and the players-Fruit of the Loom, Champion, Russell-have all shifted to contract factories with the rest of the garment industry, and make liberal use of free-trade zones around the world. In the U.S., the licensing of college names is a $2.5 billion annual industry, much of it brokered through the Collegiate Licensing Company. Duke University alone sells around $25 million worth of clothing associated with its winning basketball team every year. To meet the demand, it has seven hundred licensees who contract to hundreds of plants in the U.S. and in ten other countries.13 Because of Duke's leading role as a campus apparel manufacturer, a group of activists decided to turn the school into a model of ethical manufacturing-not only for other schools, but for the scandal-racked garment industry as a whole. In March 1998, Duke University unveiled a landmark policy requiring that all companies making T-shirts, baseball hats and sweatshirts bearing the "Duke" name agree to a set of clear labor standards. The code required that contractors pay the legal minimum wage, maintain safe working conditions and allow workers to form unions, no matter where the factories were located. What makes the policy more substantial than most other codes in the garment sector is that it requires factories to undergo inspections from independent monitors-a provision that sent Nike and Shell screaming from the negotiating table, despite overwhelming evidence that their stated standards are being disregarded on the ground. Brown University followed two months later with a tough code of its own.
Tico Almeida, a senior at Duke University, explains that many students have a powerful reaction when they learn about the workers who produce their team clothing in free-trade zones. "You have two groups of people, roughly the same age, who are getting such different experiences out of the same institutions," he says. And once again, says David Tannenbaum, an undergraduate at Princeton, the logo (this time a school logo) provides the global link. "While the workers are making our clothes thousands of miles away, in other ways we're close to it-we're wearing these clothes every day."14 The summer after the Duke and Brown codes were passed was filled with activity. In July, anti-sweatshop organizers from campuses across the country gathered in New York and organized themselves into a coalition, United Students Against Sweatshops. In August, a delegation of eight students, including Tico Almeida, went on a fact-finding mission to free-trade zones in Nicaragua, El Salvador and Honduras. Almeida told me he was hoping to find Duke sweatshirts because he had seen the "Made in Honduras" tag on clothing sold on his campus. But he soon discovered what most people do when they visit free-trade zones: that a potent combination of secrecy, deferred responsibility and militarism forms a protective barricade around much of the global garment industry. "It was like taking random stabs in the dark," he recalls.
When classes resumed in September 1998 and the student travelers were back on campus, the issue of sweatshop labor exploded into what The New York Times The New York Times described as "the biggest surge in campus activism in nearly two decades." described as "the biggest surge in campus activism in nearly two decades."15 At Duke, Georgetown, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Arizona, Michigan, Princeton, Stanford, Harvard, Brown, Cornell and University of California at Berkeley there were conferences, teach-ins, protests and sit-ins-some lasting three and four days. At Yale University, students held a "knit-in." All the demonstrations led to agreements from school administrators to demand higher labor standards from the companies that manufacture their wares. At Duke, Georgetown, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Arizona, Michigan, Princeton, Stanford, Harvard, Brown, Cornell and University of California at Berkeley there were conferences, teach-ins, protests and sit-ins-some lasting three and four days. At Yale University, students held a "knit-in." All the demonstrations led to agreements from school administrators to demand higher labor standards from the companies that manufacture their wares.
This fast-growing movement has a somewhat unlikely rallying cry: "Corporate disclosure." The central demand is for the companies that produce college-affiliated clothing to hand over the names and addresses of all their factories around the world and open themselves up to monitoring. Who makes your school clothing, the students say, should not be a mystery. They argue that with the garment industry being the global, contracted-out maze that it is, the onus must be on companies to prove their goods aren't aren't made in sweatshops-not on investigative activists to prove that they are. The students are also pushing for their schools to demand that contractors pay a "living wage," as opposed to the legal minimum wage. By May 1999, at least four administrations had agreed in principle to push their suppliers on the living-wage issue. As we will see in the next chapter, there is no agreement about how to turn those well-meaning commitments into real changes in the export factories. Everyone involved in the anti-sweatshop movement does agree, however, that even getting issues like disclosure and a living wage on the negotiating table with manufacturers represents a major victory, one that has eluded campaigners for many years. made in sweatshops-not on investigative activists to prove that they are. The students are also pushing for their schools to demand that contractors pay a "living wage," as opposed to the legal minimum wage. By May 1999, at least four administrations had agreed in principle to push their suppliers on the living-wage issue. As we will see in the next chapter, there is no agreement about how to turn those well-meaning commitments into real changes in the export factories. Everyone involved in the anti-sweatshop movement does agree, however, that even getting issues like disclosure and a living wage on the negotiating table with manufacturers represents a major victory, one that has eluded campaigners for many years.
In a smaller but equally precedent-setting initiative, Archbishop Theodore McCarrick announced in October 1997 that his Newark, New Jersey, archdiocese would become a "no sweat" zone. The initiative includes introducing an anti-sweatshop curriculum into all 185 Catholic schools in the area, identifying the manufacturers of all their school uniforms and monitoring them to make sure the clothes are being produced under fair labor conditions-just as the students at St. Mary's in Pickering, Ontario, decided to do.
All in all, students have picked up the gauntlet on the sweatshop issue with an enthusiasm that has taken the aging labor movement by storm. United Students Against Sweatshops, after only one year in existence, claimed chapters on a hundred U.S. campuses and a sister network in Canada. Free the Children, young Craig Kielburger's Toronto-based anti-child-labor organization (he was the thirteen-year-old who challenged the Canadian prime minister to review child-labor practices in India) has meanwhile gained strength in high schools and grade schools around the world. Charles Kernaghan, with his "outing" of Kathie Lee Gifford and Mickey Mouse, may have started this wave of labor organizing, but by the end of the 199899 academic year, he knew he was no longer driving it. In a letter to the United Students Against Sweatshops, he wrote: "Right now it is your student movement which is leading the way and carrying the heaviest weight in the struggle to end sweatshop abuses and child labor. Your effectiveness is forcing the companies to respond."16 Times have changed. As William Cahn writes in his history of the Lawrence Mill sweatshop strike of 1912, "Nearby Harvard University allowed students credit for their midterm examinations if they agreed to serve in the militia against the strikers. 'Insolent, well-fed Harvard men,' the New York Call New York Call reported, 'parade up and down, their rifles loaded...their bayonets glittering.'" reported, 'parade up and down, their rifles loaded...their bayonets glittering.'"17 Today, students are squarely on the other side of sweatshop labor disputes: as the target market for everything from Guess jeans to Nike soccer balls and Duke-embossed baseball hats, young people are taking the sweatshop issue personally. Today, students are squarely on the other side of sweatshop labor disputes: as the target market for everything from Guess jeans to Nike soccer balls and Duke-embossed baseball hats, young people are taking the sweatshop issue personally.
Community Action: Pulling the Selective Purchasing Lever Since federal governments in North America and Europe have been largely unwilling to impose meaningful sanctions on such documented humanrights violators as Burma, Nigeria, Indonesia and China, preferring instead to "constructively engage" these nations with trade, there has been a move for more local levels of government to step in where the feds have stepped aside. In the U.S., town councils, city councils, school boards and even some individual state governments have been quietly doing an end run around the trade-mission cheerleading that now passes for foreign policy, and drafting their own, local, foreign policy.