I’d asked. I’d been told. Now what am I going to do?
Because I asked for an Hermes lookalike, she told me the story. IThey were made by little children, supposedly no more than 9 or 10. “Because their hands are better for delicate work,” she told me. She added, “But they’re always wanting to go out to play. To keep them still, the factory owners fracture a leg and tie it to their thighs.” I tried not to look affected. “Surely they’d want their slave labour whole,” I argued with her. I demanded, “Show me the youtube. Till I see with my eyes, I won’t believe.” “Do it yourself,” she retorted. It wasn’t her so-called-Vuitton burning against her side. She didn’t have fake Ferragamos pinching at her heels I had a lot to lose if I believed. But … because I asked, I went off and searched. I found videos on boys making the paper cups that shield our ice-cream cones, others working in the fields, still more in brick factories. I did not see the sewing children but I saw enough. I’d asked. I’d been told. I’d seen. Now, what am I going to do about it?