What Moves Us to Action

There are moments in our lives when we are touched by stories of personal suffering, or of injustice, or of tragedy. Such stories oft times gives us pause, other times such stories beckon tears of empathy or a sense of regretful powerlessness. It is a rare occasion when such a story can move us to act; when such a story adds reason to a shelved idea and injects a distinct sense of purpose.

Such was the case when I heard the story of the United States’ response to Ugandan President Museveni’s announcement of his intent to ban the importation of used clothing into Uganda. The move to ban used clothing, according to President Museveni, was an action taken in support of Uganda’s local textile industry.

I heard the story of Uganda’s intention to ban used clothing in 2018. While I was unaware of the full significance of the announcement, I was alerted to its significance by the swift and definitive response by the US. The United States declared that if Uganda, and by extension any other African nation, banned the importation of used clothing, that nation would be sanctioned and its partnership in the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA) revoked.

Simply put, AGOA allows participating African nations to import goods into the US duty-free and represents millions of dollars to these nations that have never enjoyed equal access to the international marketplace. The threat of expulsion from participation in AGOA was of such import that only Rwanda has remained resolute; all other countries have acquiesced and ended all steps to prohibit the importation of used clothing.

This was a big deal. But why such a bruhaha overused clothing? The reason is simple; the used clothing market is huge – like $4.8 billion huge - huge enough to summon the protection of the US government. Most alarming is that it is a market made up of unwitting participants: you and me.

Described by some in the textile industry as “. . neo-colonialism in its purest form…”, I could not get my hands around the impact of the used clothing market on developing nations. I was angered, most significantly, by my ignorance. How did I not know? I felt foolish and I felt bamboozled. For I, like millions of other Americans, routinely acknowledge that it is time to clear my closet of items I no longer wear and to donate the “nice stuff”. Everyone knows the routine. We wash the clothes that must go, then fold and bag them and we get a warm feeling as we drop off our offerings.

The motivation is simple, we want to help others and yet, the fact is that our behavior, albeit unwittingly, has made us complicit in the devastation of economies around the world. I had no idea that seven out of ten of those donated items are sold, bundled, and then resold to generate the huge profits enjoyed in this $4.8 billion international market.

I have spent years considering the causes and impact of the exclusion of African countries as equal players in the international marketplace. Carefully erected barriers, that guarantee the marginalization of African countries, were not dismantled by decolonization nor by the advent of privatization. Let us forego a review of decades worth of examples and simply consider a very recent one.

Ghana boasted of 16 large textile manufacturers that employed over 25,000 people in 1975; by 2002, only 5000 people were employed by the 4 textile manufacturers that remained. While both international and domestic factors were at play, a major contributor to the demise of the industry was and remains imported used clothing.

The shelved Idea

I mentioned a shelved idea in the opening of this essay. The idea in question began to form when I became the owner of a puppy. Having never before owned a pet, I was convinced that my labradoodle, Habakah, was crazy. I soon learned that my puppy was just being a puppy and that to be a good puppy Mommy, I would need to walk this enthusiastic bundle of beautiful and bodacious energy every day. Knowing my nature, I knew I needed a jacket that would be comfortable, warm, and cute if I was to be resolute in my duty to Habakah. I, however, did not have such a jacket. The solution seemed straight forward to me. I needed to make the jacket I envisioned. So, I made the jacket, a hat, and a matching coat for Habakah. And it all began.

It had not been my intent to design and make my wardrobe but that is what happened. I also made special pieces for family members and friends but resisted, adamantly, any suggestion that I should devote my life to designing and making clothes. It was not a pursuit that lined-up with how I wanted to move through the world. My role as a representative of the State of Ohio in China lined-up as did working to support the inclusion of small manufacturers in West Africa into the supply chain of multinational corporations. Running an Early Learning Program for at-risk children, most definately lined-up. But making clothes? Not so much and with that, the idea was shelved.

The truth is, I gave no consideration to the notion posited by others - that my creations were reflective of a gift. However, every time I wore one of my pieces I would be stopped, and it admired. My mother and I made a bit of a game out of it. She would say, “I am waiting for someone to stop you” and I would reply “Maybe not today.” But invariably, someone would stop us and make some flattering comment about my shirt or trousers or one of my pieces that she was wearing.

There was a clear disconnect. And at some point I began to contemplate what was behind my resistance to embracing what I have now come to think of as a gift.

I understood the origins of my resistence. I was raised to know and accept that as a black American, I had a responsibility to chip away at negative stereotypes when I entered any room. While these notions would proceed me, it was my job to leave that room having done some damage, no matter how slight, to the preexisting and deleterious images any white person held about black people. While I have no regrets about embracing such a responsibility, I now believe that it somehow morphed into something that caused me to regard the perception of others as more important than my personal predilections.

On one hand I had great respect for the black people I knew and loved that occupied stereotypical roles in society: roles to which they, in many cases, were relegated. I admired the artistry my grandfather brought to his job as a Maitre D. I respected the skill Joyce brought to her role as a seamstress. However, I saw theses roles as emblematic of the limited choices presented to people of color. They were roles of service; roles that black people were suppose to occupy.

And so, I am now convinced that I had somehow decided that by being identified as a maker of clothes, I would be contributing to instead of dismantleing stereotypes. But now, having embraced Socrates’ caution concerning an unexamined life and all, I realize that I had chained myself to an effort to disprove a negative and to dismantle a carefully erected tower of social constructs for which I was no match. I had, albeit unwittingly, discounted the grace evidenced by my work and the passion I have for it. I have been given a gift that I had dismissed out of hand.

I am delighted to say that all conflicted feelings have been replaced with gratitude. I have been blessed. I am the caretaker of an artist’s soul and I am a designer.

So, having settled that, I faced another problem. I could not keep up with the demand for my work. As a result, I was beset by three issues. The first issue was that I could simply not afford to have my clothes made in the US. The second issue was my total rejection of the opportunity to avail myself of Asian manufacturing outlets, and the third was my aversion to putting all of my efforts into an endeavor that did not impact the world around me in a measurable way.

It was during this time that I applied for and was awarded the Wellesley College Susan Stevens Traveling Fellowship. The fellowship would finance my effort to design and create a line of fabric using traditional African batik techniques. I would be traveling to and working in Ghana for three months: learning the art of batiking and working with cotton grown and woven in Ghana. The fellowship quickly became the springboard for the White Shirt Project.

Using cotton grown and processed in Ghana, The White Shirt Project involves the manufacturing of the CherylPennDesigns Classic White Shirt in Ghana. I have been given an opportunity to create a powerful countermeasure to the impact of the used clothing market in Ghana and maybe even the world. The issues presented by the used clothing market are centered on the inability of local textile manufacturers to compete with the price point of used clothes in their domestic markets. My shirts will be made exclusively for export and as such will enjoy duty-free status for both import and export activity; the former made possible by AGOA and the latter by Ghana’s elimination of export duty on finished products.

Further, and decidedly more important, is the potential impact we will have on global trade behavior. In our unsuccessful effort to persuade multinationals to include vetted African manufacturers in their supply chain, the most common reason given for non-participation was the notion that it is not safe to trade with African countries. However, in Global Finance Magazine’s annual comprehensive ranking of the 100 safest countries, Ghana is consistently determined to be a safer country with which to trade than China, Mexico, or the United States.

The White Shirt Project will provide a context for examining the prudence of adhering to a convention that defies logic. From material and labor costs to logistics and infrastructure, manufacturing in Ghana just makes good business sense.

And indeed, it all lines-up.

There are moments in our lives when we are touched by a story. However, there are only a few stories that reveal a “calling", only a very few powerful enough to drive us to find our moment: our moment to move, our moment to act, our moment to change the world. This is mine.