It stands to reason that Americans have exchanged their souls for the promise of big tits, but one would have expected a declared choice, rather than simply shrugging at the rest of the world while leering at topless, semi-topless, and soon-to-be topless young women. For if we knew the price of our trinkets and flashy, plastic waste that seems so goddamn important at the time, we’d at least have our callous arrogance to carry us through the next round. Instead, we are just plum ignorant, and if young children must work long shifts in dank factories so that we can pretend “traditions” like Mardi Gras are anything but standard Tuesdays in a city literally bathed in the stench of alcoholic excess throughout the entire year, we’re not at all concerned. That’s the fun-filled premise of David Redmon’s documentary Mardi Gras: Made in China, which is the latest assault on the perils of unchecked globalization. Without a snide tone or sense of superiority, it shoots back and forth from Tai Kuen Factory in China (where the famous Mardi Gras beads are manufactured) to the streets of New Orleans, still decked out in a pre-Katrina invulnerability. And while the film asks, “At what price cheap entertainment?”, it seems to suggest that if we banned or “protested” each and every thing that caused harm to others, or furthered exploitation of some kind, we’d be left with nothing but our spinning wheels and the monotony of our own moral sanctimony.
“Beads for boobs!”, a bearded truck driver hoots, and why not, if the young tarts can be had so cheaply? As the filmmaker asks drunken sots in the streets where the beads come from, we can see the smiles quickly drop, as if mom was intruding on that first glorious exposure to female genitalia. No one cares, or wants to know, and even when a video camera is pulled out to show the faithful what goes on in your average authoritarian sweatshop, they act hopelessly burdened, as if the very point of alcoholic excess is to escape global responsibility. These scenes are tragically hilarious, as they remind me of my own adventures trying to dissuade others from shopping at Wal-Mart. Yes, yes, they acknowledge, we know illegal immigrants are locked in at night and overtime is both mandatory and unpaid, but what’s a person to do in the face of three-for-a-dollar candy bars? And who is this Redmon guy anyway to stand between a lustful man and sensual, unnaturally firm tits? Go save the world on your own time, and leave the ogling and erections to those who still love life and fun and all those values that separate us from the terrorists. And so what if little Chinese girls work long, hot hours in unrelenting toil? If not there, the factory would be somewhere else; perhaps even a place less hospitable.
And so the argument goes, as if the only choices we have are unchecked economic exploitation, cheap beads, and even cheaper babes, and humorless intrusions into the marketplace that stifle growth and surround civilization with a blanket of darkness. Still, that is decidedly not the argument Redmon wishes to make, as he refrains from sensationalism in favor of genuine curiosity about his subject. I have no doubt that he has an opinion on the matter — and that he favors granting the world’s workers more freedoms and better pay — but he’s so polite about it that he’s bound to avoid more arguments than start. We’re not used to filmmakers accumulating evidence and fact, so it’s jarring whenever we prepare for a propaganda war that never arrives. Instead, we come to know the Chinese “way of doing things”. We meet the factory’s boss (so sunny that he’s creepy), several of the young female workers (all of whom are shocked at what their creations are being used for), and of course, the teeming masses of New Orleans. We learn, for example, that 95% of all workers in the factory are female, and that they wear red hats to make them easier to see (and for good reason, as those caught talking on the floor are docked a full day’s pay). A stiff price indeed, as the average working day numbers fourteen hours. Some go as long as sixteen. Couple these grueling facts with strict quotas (which, if not met, are the basis for even more wage reductions), and you have a genuinely horrific environment.
One girl in particular is Ga Hong Mei, an 18-year-old who has been at the plant for four years, and who lives on-site in a 20×24 dorm with nine others. She, like everyone else, is only allowed to leave on Sundays, except for the Chinese New Year, which shuts down the entire plant for two weeks. She is clearly too bright for the mindless toil, but what else is she going to do? China is literally an unfenced sandbox of cheap-labor corporations, and $62 a month is still somewhat reasonable by their standards. At least that’s what we’ve been led to believe. The truth is probably more in the middle: that they can, in fact, live on far less, and the factories operate much as the plantations of old. And think of the shit they’re working with: Polystyrene and Polyethylene, both of which are narcotics and central nervous system toxins, and cause cancer if inhaled. Not that you should take the National Institute for Occupational Safety’s word for it. Instead, perhaps you might consult he who labels unencumbered clear-cutting “healthy forests”, or relaxed pollution standards “clear skies”. Clearly science has become too bogged down by the scientists themselves. We need some non-experts to once again point us in the right direction.
At last, a curious fact emerged — the Mardi Gras ritual of exchanging beads for tits began in 1978, the same year Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping introduced free market elements into his country. One had nothing to do with the other, of course, but it speaks to the real dilemma: our fanatical obsession with crap. Increasingly it is no longer the case, but in years past, the surest sign that something was to be thrown away after very limited use was a “Made in China” label. The same applies to Mexico, Taiwan, and hell, even Canada, but the Chinese tag seemed worst of all, as if they were conspiring to drown our citizenry with stuffed animals, plastic gadgets, and cheap toys to ensure their eventual takeover. More than that, though, the film simply — and quite reasonably — asks that we at least consider the origin of our goods, even if we continue to use that which stems from younger and younger labor. After all, is Mardi Gras participants suddenly decided to forego the bead exchange, the factories would shut down, and the girls would either be unemployed or move on to some other unsavory local shop. It’s the dilemma we face: the desire to treat the world’s workers with dignity and respect, with the simultaneous recognition that idealism, for all of its virtues, can also destroy economies. The world is a business, after all, and only the naïve believe one can legislate meanness away. And only the dull would ever want to.
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