5-17-2011: Green Trees and Grey Buildings

On the way to the factory...

Have you ever wondered where your clothes come from? Why you pay so much for them? Or what was the true difference between brands and labels? Its all in here and the answers are more frustrating than not.

The factory I had the chance to visit today was owned by my uncle, Babul. A quick back story on my uncle; he was the poorest of the group, my dad often would give him about 2 taka (less than a dime) everyday to come hang out then take a Ricksha (A man powered bike/taxi that Bangladesh and Vietnam are known for) back home. He lost family members in the Bangladeshi independence war of 1971 and in 1987 he created his garment company, DBL Group. He now is worth in the upwards of 1.5 Billion Dollars, talk about rags to riches…

This certain journey had me traveling through dense foliage and green vegetation as far as the eyes could see. It was utterly gorgeous. It also took me upon a journey of self doubt, mental rejuvenation, and realization.

The car ride to the factory was about 35 miles from Dhaka city, but due to the heavy traffic (Dhaka has half the United States population in a country the size of Maine), it took us about an hour and a half to arrive. On arrival we were met by a heavy metal gate with guards that were forced to salute us at every turn. This I found to be unnecessary mainly due to me not being of any real value, especially to be saluted like a foreign dignitary of some sort, but nonetheless it was nice. The compound was huge. It contained about 3 separate factories that were each the size of two football fields. It turned out he employed over 21,000 Bangladeshis that were previously not employed (I will get back to this later). Upon entering one of the factories, I noticed huge spinning wheels that were worth about 1 million dollars each.

A production line of shirts. Funny that they happened to be of The Beatles.

One thing that left me really astonished with in the factories was that each company that contracted my uncle’s work had exactly the same requirements. By this I mean that each piece of clothing came from the same production line, same cotton, same manufacturer, and definitely the same person. It turned me on to my previous belief that, for the most part, all of the clothes we buy in the U.S. are practically the same. We spend money on different brands and tags that are essentially the same. Our fashion magazines feed us this belief that if we don’t buy their products, or if we buy someone else as opposed to theirs, we aren’t hip or cool. People spend entire paychecks on fashion, and for what? I realized that it was all a sham, a gimmick, a fad. All of this I can attain to this trip inside the factory.

One remarkable thing about my uncle’s compound is that it contained a medical clinic for all of his employees, and also a daycare for women that had children with no one to care for them while they worked. I found this to be very telling in the type of company he chooses to run contrasted with the way U.S. companies treat their employees.

After leaving the plant, we were taken to the zoo that was kept on the compound; a personal collection of rare animals, if you will. Bears, alligators, emus, rabbits, dear, foxes, and monkeys were all present. I guess this is how billionaires spend their money; absolutely eccentric, yet interesting.

Outside of the factories with my cousins, my dad, uncle, and Albert (A fashion designer)

The main thing I wanted to get at in this blog was to talk about the dichotomy I was in while visiting my uncle’s factory. I’ve always wanted to become rich based on my own merits; to be unfathomably well off from my own hard work. But I also have a strong tie to humanity; to people who are oppressed, misrepresented, subjugated and exploited. I often thought of business moguls in other countries that took advantage of their people to be ruthless and evil. But while I was at the factory I began to wonder and think…would these people have jobs if it weren’t for these people? Should I be happy for them? Is it not better to be paid, than not be paid at all? For $50 a month, I truly cannot say.