Opinion

Child labor fuels hoop dreams

Not a bad gig if you can get it

By Alex Sheive

Posted on Jan. 31, 2002, at 12:00 a.m.

I recently caught some shit. Yeah, I know, big surprise right?

So there I was, playing a game of basketball the other day. Actually, I don’t really “play,” my friends just invite me to bring up our team’s average weight. Just for your information I did play well, I shut my man down … and he was good … especially for a fourth grader. I’ve never seen a kid shoot like that from a wheelchair.

Anyhoo, I was unlacing my kicks and this woman approaches me. She looks at me and says, “Ya know, those sneakers you’re wearing were made in sweatshops by underpaid, abused children.” Then she walked off. But it got me to thinking: Who really gives a shit?

Hey, I’m real sorry that little Guadeloupe is stuck in a sweaty factory, painstakingly constructing my sneaks, but that’s life. If you want me to sign a petition against it, I will. You want me to feel bad, then so be it. But what I’m not gonna do is return my Air Jordans because some poor bastard shed his blood and sweat on them.

I’m sorry little Raoulle’s hands are raw and torn … I need another inch on my vertical and if the sneakers he made help, then damn … thanks Raoulle.

Come on people, these kids only work like 21 hours a day. When I was their age I was working six days straight with no food or water. I drank my own urine for sustenance. Hell, I used to walk six hours just to get to my sweatshop … in the snow … uphill both ways.

Besides, these kids are getting paid. Your average top-of-the-line sweatshop kid can rake in anywhere from 8 to 12 cents … in a day! Granted, he busts his sweaty little ass. But if that little tyke is thrifty and wise with his loot, then by the end of the week he could almost afford a can of soda. Now, that’s living! Or maybe he could even save up for that long distance phone call to his refugee brothers and sisters who probably left him behind and came to America.

I mean the place can’t be all bad, they are hanging out, working with their friends. Sure, they aren’t allowed to speak to one another, but hey, that’s life. You just can’t let those kids talk to each other, they may lose concentration and mess up making their shoe. And hey, who wants a pair of sneakers that some sweatshop kid merely “half-assed” … I know I don’t.

So, one day I hope kids that work in sweatshops like little Guadeloupe and Raoulle will see this message. Then they will know their tireless work hasn’t gone unnoticed. Here’s to you Guadeloupe and Raoulle, when your boss tells you to knit some Nikes, don’t complain… “Just Do It.”

Travis Cowing wears size 6 Nikes.

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 31st, 2002, 12:00 am. You can follow any responses to this article through the RSS feed.