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CBC
27-07-2025
- Business
- CBC
I've seen first-hand the true price of fast fashion — people suffering, lives lost
Social Sharing This First Person article is the experience of Itrat Anwar, a newcomer from Bangladesh who now calls Steinbach, Man., his home. For more info rmation about CBC's First Person stories, please see this FAQ. You can read more First Person articles here. The true cost of your $100 piece of clothing isn't one you can see. Sometimes, it's measured in blood. Sometimes, the cost is human lives. And I saw it first-hand. I walked through roaring sewing lines, sat in crowded factory canteens and watched workers endure unbearable conditions for wages so low they could barely survive. In their suffering, I realized something crucial — most of us have no idea where our clothes come from or the price others pay for them. Bangladesh's garment industry is one of the largest in the world. It contributes more than 80 per cent of the country's exports (according to Economics Observatory), employs more than three million people, mostly women, in more than 4,000 factories in the Dhaka and Chittagong divisions, and brings in, on average, $46 billion US annually. For Bangladesh, this industry is the backbone of the economy. But it comes at a staggering human cost. After completing my MBA, I joined a company that sold machinery to garment factories. From 2012 onward, I spent three to five days a week visiting factories across Dhaka, Narayanganj, Ashulia, Savar and Gazipur. I worked closely with production managers and machine layout engineers. I had access to both the boardrooms and the boiler rooms — and what I saw there shook me. I visited hundreds of factories, and each day revealed more about the brutal realities behind the clothes we wear. I could no longer be part of a system I no longer believed in. - Itrat Anwar I watched thousands of workers pour into factory gates every morning – some walking miles just to earn a wage barely enough to feed their families. Inside, the air was thick with dust, the noise from the machines deafening, and the pressure to meet impossible production quotas relentless. These workers often toiled 14 to 16 hours a day, seven days a week. During peak seasons, they would work until 2 or 3 a.m. just to meet the deadlines set by global fashion brands. Refusing overtime wasn't an option. Many were terrified of losing their jobs if they did. In some cases, overtime wasn't even compensated. In the most hazardous corners of the factories, I had to pass through dyeing sections where massive machines churned with toxic chemicals, releasing fumes that stung my eyes and burned my throat. Boiler rooms felt like industrial furnaces — metal chambers radiating unbearable heat, with pipes hissing and valves rattling under pressure. The air was thick with steam and chemical vapours, making every breath a struggle. The noise was deafening, the floors often slippery, and overhead wiring dangerously exposed. What shocked me most was the lack of basic safety: no proper ventilation that I could see, no protective gear, and often, no functional emergency exits. In many buildings, a single blocked stairwell could trap hundreds. For me, enduring this environment for a few hours was unbearable. For the workers, it was their everyday reality, one misstep away from injury or worse. The Western world often talks about "ethical" fashion. Brands promise safer workplaces, fair wages and dignity for workers. These brands are well-known — their advertisements powerful, their reputations impeccable. But the reality I witnessed was different. While these companies publicly called for higher standards, it appeared to me that the priorities were cheap labour, fast delivery and massive profit margins. Worker safety and fair pay were often pushed to the bottom of the priority list. In conversations with workers, I learned that some went months without wages, while the companies ignored their plight. A local media outlet back home in Bangladesh reported that some workers went 14 months without pay. I still remember the horror of the Rana Plaza collapse on Wednesday, April 24, 2013, around 9 a.m. local time. I was on my way to work that morning when I heard the news. (In fact, I could have visited that factory on the very same day. It was part of my regular duty.) More than 1,100 workers died in that collapse. Many of them were young women, mothers of the very children I had also seen in the factories. The collapse shocked the world, but for those of us in the industry, it wasn't a surprise. Cracks in the walls, faulty wiring, safety risks that were ignored — all the signs had been there. But production had to continue. After Rana Plaza, there was global outrage. Brands made high-profile promises to do better. Some factories improved, and some brands stepped up. But to me, it seemed like most simply moved on, shifting production to countries with even cheaper labour, constantly chasing lower costs. And the workers? They stayed, still earning barely enough to survive, still afraid to speak up, still hoping for change that rarely came. They deserve more than mere survival. They deserve dignity, safety and a voice. One day during that period still haunts me. I had my DSLR camera with me (something I often carried to capture interesting scenes). When I arrived at one factory, the gates were shut, and workers were rioting outside over months of unpaid wages. I waited near a tea stall, hoping to meet the manager. Soon, a few men approached, questioning my presence. When they noticed my camera, their tone shifted and the questions came fast. "Which media are you from?" one asked. I replied that I wasn't from the media and was there for a scheduled meeting. But the tension in the air was palpable and the man asked again, "Are you from a newspaper or TV?" I realized this wasn't just casual curiosity. They were watching me. They wanted to know what I had photographed. If I had captured images of the strike, I could have been in danger. I quickly hailed a taxi and left, my heart racing. These weren't concerned workers. They were local labour leaders, meant to protect workers, but now part of a system that silences the truth, instead of defending it. WATCH | Itrat Anwar talks about what he saw in garment factories in Bangladesh: Manitoban recalls horrors of Bangladesh garment factories 1 hour ago Eventually, I left the garment industry. I could no longer be part of a system I no longer believed in. I had seen too much: people suffering in silence, lives lost needlessly and promises repeatedly broken. Yet even now, I can't forget the faces in those factories — the strength of the women at the sewing machines, the young men dragging heavy bundles of fabric, the children waiting patiently outside for their mothers. They deserve more than mere survival. They deserve dignity, safety and a voice. The next time you buy a T-shirt, a pair of jeans or a dress, check the label. It might say "Made in Bangladesh," "Made in Cambodia" or "Made in Vietnam." Behind each of those labels is a story, maybe one of silent suffering. Some reflect resilience; others, exploitation. And too often, they speak of lives lost in the shadows of the global fashion industry. As a consumer, I now ask myself, "Who made this and at what cost?" Because I've seen first-hand that the true price of fast fashion isn't just counted in dollars, but in human lives, in blood and in the silence of those who were never heard.
Sky News
28-05-2025
- Business
- Sky News
'Leicester is embargoed': City's clothing industry in crisis
You probably recall the stories about Leicester's clothing industry in recent years: grim labour conditions, pay below the minimum wage, "dark factories" serving the fast fashion sector. What is less well known is what happened next. In short, the industry has cratered. In the wake of the recurrent scandals over "sweatshop" conditions in Leicester, the majority of major brands have now abandoned the city, triggering an implosion in production in the place that once boasted that it "clothed the world". And now Leicester faces a further existential double-threat: competition from Chinese companies like Shein and Temu, and the impending arrival of cheap imports from India, following the recent trade deal signed with the UK. Many worry it could spell an end for the city's fashion business altogether. Gauging the scale of the recent collapse is challenging because many of the textile and apparel factories in Leicester are small operations that can start up and shut down rapidly, but according to data provided to Sky News by SP&KO, a consultancy founded by fashion sector veterans Kathy O'Driscoll and Simon Platts, the number has fallen from 1,500 in 2017 to just 96 this year. This 94% collapse comes amid growing concerns that British clothes-making more broadly is facing an existential crisis. In an in-depth investigation carried out over recent months, Sky News has visited sites in the city shut down in the face of a collapse of demand. Thousands of fashion workers are understood to have lost their jobs. Many factories lie empty, their machines gathering dust. The vast majority of high street and fast fashion brands that once sourced their clothes in Leicester have now shifted their supply chains to North Africa and South Asia. And a new report from UKFT - Britain's fashion and textiles lobby group - has found that a staggering 95% of clothes companies have either trimmed or completely eliminated clothes manufacturing in the UK. Some 58% of brands, by turnover, now have an explicit policy not to source clothes from the UK. Jenny Holloway, chair of the Apparel & Textile Manufacturers Association, said: "We know of factories that were asked to become a potential supplier [to high street brands], got so far down the line, invested on sampling, invested time and money, policies, and then it's like: 'oh, sorry, we can't use you, because Leicester is embargoed.'" Tejas Shah, a third-generation manufacturer whose family company Shahtex used to make materials for Marks & Spencer, said: "I've spoken to brands in the past who, if I moved my factory 15 miles north into Loughborough, would be happy to work with me. But because I have an LE1, LE4 postcode, they don't want to work for me." Threat of Chinese brands Shein and Temu That pain has been exacerbated by a new phenomenon: the rise of Chinese fast fashion brands Shein and Temu. They offer consumers ultra-cheap clothes and goods, made in Chinese factories and flown direct to UK households. And, thanks to a customs loophole known as "de minimis", those goods don't even incur tariffs when they arrive in the country. According to Satvir Singh, who runs Our Fashion, one of the last remaining knitwear producers in the city, this threat could prove the final straw for Leicester's garments sector. "It is having an impact on our production - and I think the whole retail sector, at least for clothing, are feeling that pinch." While Donald Trump has threatened to abolish the loophole in the US, the UK has only announced a review with no timeline. "If we look at what Trump's done, he's just thinking more about his local economy because he can see the long-term effects," said Mr Singh. "I think [abolishing de minimis exceptions] will make a huge difference. I think ultimately it's about a level playing field."
Sky News
28-05-2025
- Business
- Sky News
'Sweatshop' scandals have left Leicester's once-thriving clothing industry in existential crisis
You probably recall the stories about Leicester's clothing industry in recent years: grim labour conditions, pay below the minimum wage, "dark factories" serving the fast fashion sector. What is less well known is what happened next. In short, the industry has cratered. In the wake of the recurrent scandals over "sweatshop" conditions in Leicester, the majority of major brands have now abandoned the city, triggering an implosion in production in the place that once boasted that it "clothed the world". And now Leicester faces a further existential double-threat: competition from Chinese companies like Shein and Temu, and the impending arrival of cheap imports from India, following the recent trade deal signed with the UK. Many worry it could spell an end for the city's fashion business altogether. Gauging the scale of the recent collapse is challenging because many of the textile and apparel factories in Leicester are small operations that can start up and shut down rapidly, but according to data provided to Sky News by SP&KO, a consultancy founded by fashion sector veterans Kathy O'Driscoll and Simon Platts, the number has fallen from 1,500 in 2017 to just 96 this year. This 94% collapse comes amid growing concerns that British clothes-making more broadly is facing an existential crisis. In an in-depth investigation carried out over recent months, Sky News has visited sites in the city shut down in the face of a collapse of demand. Thousands of fashion workers are understood to have lost their jobs. Many factories lie empty, their machines gathering dust. The vast majority of high street and fast fashion brands that once sourced their clothes in Leicester have now shifted their supply chains to North Africa and South Asia. And a new report from UKFT - Britain's fashion and textiles lobby group - has found that a staggering 95% of clothes companies have either trimmed or completely eliminated clothes manufacturing in the UK. Some 58% of brands, by turnover, now have an explicit policy not to source clothes from the UK. Jenny Holloway, chair of the Apparel & Textile Manufacturers Association, said: "We know of factories that were asked to become a potential supplier [to high street brands], got so far down the line, invested on sampling, invested time and money, policies, and then it's like: 'oh, sorry, we can't use you, because Leicester is embargoed.'" Tejas Shah, a third-generation manufacturer whose family company Shahtex used to make materials for Marks & Spencer, said: "I've spoken to brands in the past who, if I moved my factory 15 miles north into Loughborough, would be happy to work with me. But because I have an LE1, LE4 postcode, they don't want to work for me." Threat of Chinese brands Shein and Temu That pain has been exacerbated by a new phenomenon: the rise of Chinese fast fashion brands Shein and Temu. They offer consumers ultra-cheap clothes and goods, made in Chinese factories and flown direct to UK households. And, thanks to a customs loophole known as "de minimis", those goods don't even incur tariffs when they arrive in the country. According to Satvir Singh, who runs Our Fashion, one of the last remaining knitwear producers in the city, this threat could prove the final straw for Leicester's garments sector. "It is having an impact on our production - and I think the whole retail sector, at least for clothing, are feeling that pinch." While Donald Trump has threatened to abolish the loophole in the US, the UK has only announced a review with no timeline. "If we look at what Trump's done, he's just thinking more about his local economy because he can see the long-term effects," said Mr Singh. "I think [abolishing de minimis exceptions] will make a huge difference. I think ultimately it's about a level playing field."
