Month: September 2019

The great phone debate has waged on for ages: if you ask a group of people whether they prefer Samsung or Apple, chances are that they will disagree — many times strongly. With constant commercials and releases for new phones, bombarding us with gigapixels and high-tech processors, it is understandable. We are so invested in the companies’ unending competition that we forget what is important: fundamentally, both phones are the same. Not in the sense of their aluminum casings nor liquid crystal displays, and not in the sense that they perform similarly complex actions. It is what we can find deep down, before we step into the store to get a better look, and before executive meetings decide how to advertise. What truly matters is the production of these phones. Across the supply chains of technological companies, unethical practices abuse unprivileged workers.

At the beginning of the chain, workers, namely child-workers, carry rocks outside of rugged crevices only their nimble bodies can pass through; and under the blazing sun, they sift through the stones, searching for cobalt that will power lithium batteries used across the globe. The reality of the filthy, lung-corroding caves deeply contrasts the sleek stores in which tablets are sold, tablets which more fortunate children across the globe use to learn things that those mining never will.

The majority of this cobalt production originates in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where children work over 12 hours a day. Along with 10 cents an hour, these children are paid with life-long diseases that will further handicap them.

“I would spend 24 hours down in the tunnels. I arrived in the morning and would leave the following morning … I had to relieve myself down in the tunnels … My foster mother planned to send me to school, but my foster father was against it, he exploited me by making me work in the mine” (Amnesty International, 2016).

Unfortunately, not all workers in these mines leave. Many workers die, crushed under collapsed rocks, their bodies and stories buried under the debris of corporate greed and our own materialism.

As the supply chain proceeds, workers continued to face abuse in factories. In a Chinese Apple factory, reporters found workers in 80-decibel factories filled with chemicals, enclosed by doors with tiny openings. Their dormitories were no better, covered in debris, without showers to clean themselves. “Chinese recruiters play up the chance to build advanced consumer electronics to attract the millions of typically impoverished, uneducated laborers without whom the production of iPhones and other digital gadgets would be impossible” (Bloomberg, 2018).

In order to help the people abused by such a horrific system, we must keep companies accountable. But companies evade these questions: “Amnesty International contacted 16 multinationals who were listed as customers of the battery manufacturers listed as sourcing processed ore from Huayou Cobalt. One company admitted the connection, while four were unable to say for certain whether they were buying cobalt from the DRC or Huayou Cobalt. Six said they were investigating the claims. Five denied sourcing cobalt from via Huayou Cobalt, though they are listed as customers in the company documents of battery manufacturers. Two multinationals denied sourcing cobalt from DRC. Crucially, none provided enough details to independently verify where the cobalt in their products came from” (Amnesty International, 2016). These statements prove highly contradictory — how can multi-billion dollar companies manufacturing such innovative technologies be unable to investigate the state of their own material producers?

Maybe that isn’t the right question to ask. Maybe we should ask how the gleam of money outshines the lives of millions.

I remember grasping the counter in attempts to relieve my outstretched legs, watching eagerly as my mother stood, her hand steadily unfurling frosting. Just as she made the cake for every family birthday, I would wait by her side for what she deemed extra — for the whisk of frosting I would eat on the porch, and for the seconds left in the bowl.

Though with time, only a taste could not satisfy my growing appetite — I had to cook. And to my surprise, with a worn out boss, I quickly received a promotion from sous-chef. Alone in the kitchen, my once benign fascination whirled into an outright fixation; and to this day, cooking provides me not only an outlet for creativity but experimenting. 

Two months ago, I transitioned to vegan. Having been vegetarian for 5 years before, I thought it would be easy, but quickly reality caught up to me. Many of my favorite dishes and baking staples had been thrown out the window, and restaurant menus dwindled into obscurity. I was now the vegan. The one who is planned around when friends go out. The one who says no to baked hand-outs (it hurts me way more than it hurts them).

Life as a Penn State student has presented a new challenge to me. I have been offered free creamery ice-cream at least eleven times, and I love ice cream; watching my friends eat flavors that define my childhood — Death by Chocolate, Bittersweet Mint, Espresso Fudge Pie  — border-line physically pains me. And sometimes, the only entree available at the buffet is steamed spinach. But challenges demand creativity, and that is just what this blog is about. In the following series, Vegan Made Easy(ish), I will write about some of my favorite vegan hacks and recipes that I have used during my transition.

Veganism can be a scary word. It is commonly portrayed as restrictive and extreme, and while this could be true (as for any lifestyle), it doesn’t have to be. Vegan doesn’t mean a diet of raw fruits and vegetables, and I hope to show the endless amount of opportunities that exist within it.

While I recognize that the grand majority of (all 3 of) my readers are not vegan, I hope these recipes serve as inspiration. Because just eating one vegan meal a week, or drinking almond milk in your coffee, or not eating red meat is a conscious decision that can better the world.

The world has seen a surge of feminism in the past few years: women have marched, demanding equal rights and pay; spoken out, holding sexual abusers accountable through the MeToo movement; and led, directing nations and politics on an international level. Though if one looks closer, this surge of feminism can be seen at an individual level: t-shirts, in stores across the globe and on the backs of men and women everywhere, read feminism. 

“Feminism: the radical notion that women are people.” 

“Intersectional feminism is the only feminism.” 

“It’s my body. It’s my choice.”

For a long time, clothing has represented an outlet for self-expression and protest, especially for those silenced by society. In the 1960s, Keffiyeh — or fishnet patterned — scarves came to symbolize Palestinian solidarity during Isreali conflict. In the 1970s, mini skirts exemplified defiance and sexual liberation; and later that decade, fashion designers popularized slogan t-shirts, directly merging fashion and word and giving way to the feminist t-shirts of today.  

Now, female-empowerment shirts can be found in stores across the world, including H&M, Zara, and even Walmart. With a fight for equality that has spanned millennia, it is understandable that people want to show their support for an often belittled movement, and showing pride in a  patriarchal society is nothing short of commendable. But ironically, these feminist shirts are manufactured in abusive sweatshops, where women are payed unlivable wages to work in prison-like conditions. 

In 2014, Elle UK collaborated with luxury fashion brand Whistles and the Fawcett Society, a leading women’s rights charity, to create a “This is What a Feminist Looks Like” t-shirt. However, it was revealed that these women made less than a dollar an hour, sleeping 16 per room after 12 hour days.

“‘How can this T-shirt be a symbol of feminism when we do not see ourselves as feminists? We see ourselves as trapped,’ one worker said” (Goldberg, 2014). 

The dilemma of feminist t-shirts does not only represent the abuses impacting the majority-female industry of clothes manufacturing. It also represents the use of social movements by corporations for profit, a popular advertising strategy that diminishes said movements to a dollar or a pepsi can. It is the same strategy that drives fast-fashion brands to market sustainability, and beauty companies to market body positivity after creating beauty standards. And now, it is the strategy that has driven unethical companies to abuse women in the name of equality.

I had spent so much time on my internal search for happiness that it somehow became ironic. The idea of finding my passion weighed on me daily. I was stressed. Unsure. Unhappy.

Life awaited me like an impossibly steep mountain, laid with business degrees and computer lights, and shadows of myself upon cubicle desks. And looking up at that moment, at that artificial projection of success I constructed, I felt sure for the first time in a long time. So I turned around.

I arrived in Linares, Chile, on August 9, 2018, with my stomach entwined like headphones in a pocket. I had just graduated high school, and left everything I had ever known behind. I could barely understand the new language and surroundings, but slowly I learned, and eventually I grew into the person I am now proud to be. 

In this year of pure possibility I found myself like I had tried so hard to do before. In the school library, I found a passion for human rights and public policy, for fair trade and sustainability. On rainy mornings in a quaint kitchen, I renewed my love for cooking. For dreaming up new concoctions and devouring the tried and true. And late into the night, as I marched through unlit streets with friends, asking “What happened?” but with an intangibly shared understanding of what had, I discovered my love for people. 

It took me 18 years to realize happiness is not some unreachable state of mind nor some near future. Happiness is the here and now. It is the acceptance that good comes with bad comes with ugly. It is the footed macaron and its crisp shell and its pillowy center. It is the incomprehensible dorm hallways that lead to low-lit lobbies, and the RA’s late night reminder to be quiet. It is the sight of familiar faces, and watching new ones become the same. It is gratefulness for the present: my breath. My chest rising. The tap of my fingers against the keyboard. The sticky breeze when I open the door and the leaves of trees bundled against blue, malleable with the wind.

I have several ideas for my passion blog. I may end up writing about different ethical problems, like fast fashion and unfair labor, and I may end up writing in a pseudo “Humans of New York” manner, but as of now I am leaning towards a vegan cooking blog, as it will allow me to destress during the week.