We dress up in slave made rags.

We walk up and about, flashing and turning, wearing cloths made in factories who exploit women in poor positions throughout Asia. It’s nothing more than a social rape orgy, and the poor are screwed without the sensation of being satisfied.

We want cheap pants with quality, we want our sweaters to last but at a low cost. We dump tons of textiles every year, shipping it off to the Grand Incinerator, thick heaps of black smoke rise to the sky as a symbol of our overconsumption, excessive in every way. Meanwhile, poor women in places as Bangalore or Cambodia work their asses off to produce these cloths we throw away long before the expiry date has a chance to flash its ragged colors over our heads. These women slave for us, they pay the price for our vanity, for our constant need for more, more, more. We walk into H&M, Wal-mart or a Nike store, depending on where in the world you live, with total ignorance on how the manufacturing of these products are. How are the working conditions for these women, trying to feed a bunch of kids, living in a place where birth control is not a part of the act, where they barely earn enough to feed the family, where they slave for your right to buy cheap cloths in a half-fancy low-cost store.

How can you define freedom under these conditions?

http://www.aftenposten.no/okonomi/utland/article3634967.ece
http://www.aftenposten.no/okonomi/utland/article3634971.ece