Columbia Under SEEJ

Ady Barkan

Around the time that April 9 became April 10, fifteen students in Lerner's Ramp Lounge West were reviewing Chapter XLIV of the Statutes of Columbia University, better known as The Rules. Paragraph 410 of the statutes details 22 violations (some "simple," others "serious") for which students and staff participating in a demonstration may be disciplined. The students in Lerner weren't worried about the physical injury, bodily harm, or property damage in the early clauses. We were more concerned with violation nine: "[9] (serious) enters or remains in a University facility without authorization at a time after the facility has been declared closed by the University." The truth is, we were also worried about violations [7], [8], [10], [11], [13], [14], [18], [19], [20], [21], [22]. Columbia, apparently, has a lot of rules against sit-ins; if you break enough of them, you get expelled.

That late-night planning session of the Students for Economic and Environmental Justice was, at least partially, an act of desperation. Since September 2005, students had been trying to get Columbia's administration to change the way the University purchases apparel in order to ensure that the workers making our sweatshirts, T-shirts, and skimpy shorts work in safe conditions and are paid enough to support their families. Students involved in these efforts had delivered letters, cupcakes, balloons, and sweatshop-free T-shirts to President Bollinger and other senior administration officials. They had sat in meetings to discuss elasticities of demand, anti-trust regulation, and the Multi Fiber Agreement regarding international trade in textiles. And although they had been met with smiles and time frames and off-the-record assurances that the Administration agreed with them, SEEJ students still hadn't seen any good evidence that Columbia would change its policies before the year ran out. So we decided that April 10—when hundreds would gather in Low's Rotunda to hear Paul Krugman, Jagdish Bagwati, and Robert Solow talk about "coping with globalization"—was a good day for some direct action.

It was. The sun shone bright as students bathed on the concrete and Alma Mater got a tan. At 2:03, 20 raggedy SEEJ students armed with flyers, demands, and brightly colored signs with morbid drawings of skeletons entered Low Memorial Library and we found ourselves…in the middle of a group of Japanese tourists. When the crowd dispersed, we stretched out around the pedestal that supported Athena's bust and took our bearings thinking it likely that a squad of blue clad security guards and suited Administrators would descend upon us rather quickly and threaten warning, censure, suspension, expulsion, or arrest. But for about two hours, almost nobody said anything. We told the head of Columbia security that we weren't planning on hurting anybody or destroying anything, and he seemed satisfied.

Since we had free time on our hands, some of us patrolled Low steps with phone scripts and got the sunbathers to call into the Administration offices and tell Columbia to change its policy. Then, around 4 o'clock, the chairwoman of the University Senate External Relations Committee, which deals with issues like Columbia's apparel licensing contracts, came out to speak with us. We had met the chair, SIPA professor Sharyn O'Halloran, many times before, and we did not agree with her. We thought that Columbia needed to strictly enforce its regulations regarding the treatment of workers who make our clothes; she felt that the University could depend largely on the goodwill of the companies and factory managers.

Some background: Between 1999 and 2000, our predecessors' efforts had led to the adoption, by Columbia University, of a supplier's Code of Conduct. The code set out detailed requirements for the licensees who contract with Columbia—companies like Champion, Jostens, and Nike—and the factories with which those companies subcontract. The idea was simple: in an industry like apparel manufacturing where nearly all workers are dirt poor and have few employment options, there is ample opportunity for managers and owners to exploit workers. In the race for higher profits and lower costs, workers are paid sub-human wages and forced to endure dangerous working conditions, excessive hours, and persistent abuse. (Yes, the free-traders are right: these jobs are better than no jobs. But noting that oppression is better than starvation doesn't justify oppression. There are alternatives better than both).

By setting out a code of conduct to which licensees would have to abide, the university could reward good factories and make treating workers well a good business model. Moreover, by joining together with other universities and colleges, the effort could have a major impact on the garment industry. One hundred and fifty schools did exactly that, coming together under what they called the Worker Rights Consortium (WRC).

The problem with the codes of conduct designed by these schools was the lack of enforcement. There was no mechanism to monitor factories and the WRC only inspected factories when complaints were lodged. The result was that licensees and factory owners could easily avoid the regulations and quickly shift production to new sweatshops if old ones were scrutinized.

The SEEJ students' seven-month campaign had been focused on getting Columbia to join an enforcement mechanism called the Designated Suppliers Program. The program would reduce the number of factories from which member schools purchase apparel and would thus enable real monitoring by the WRC. It would ensure that workers are paid a wage that allows them to provide food, shelter, clean water, and education for their family, while making sure that workers have the democratic representation necessary to protect themselves in the workplace. And by committing member schools to purchasing apparel from the designated factories, the program would guarantee a steady stream of demand for those sweatshops that commit to the higher standards.

Would these changes raise the price of the apparel and even lead to layoffs of the very people we were trying to empower? Consider this: The sweatshirts for sale in the Columbia University Bookstore go for around $37 each. Of that, profits to Barnes and Noble and Columbia are about $8, profits to the factory are 70 cents, and the factory workers are paid around 20 cents. Even tripling wages—which would result in enormous quality of life improvements for the workers and their families—would only raise the price of the sweater by 50 cents, and that's only if the licensee decided to pass on the cost increase to customers. Since Columbia apparel already sells for about twice the price of identical non-logo clothing, there's no real reason to think that this tiny price increases would reduce demand in any meaningful way.

Our debate with Chairwoman O'Halloran wasn't going anywhere. We wanted to see the Administration join the program. And so, just before 6 pm, as the throngs of panel attendees waited to get into Low, the Administration brought out its negotiating team. College Dean of Students Colombo and Chaplain Davis asked us not to obstruct the flow of traffic and in exchange said that we could hand out flyers to everyone that came in. SEEJ students love handing out flyers, so we agreed.

As the panel got underway, Bollinger's chief of staff and Provost Brinkley came out to talk. They asked that we leave the building. We asked that Columbia join the DSP. They went back around the corner to talk among themselves. We huddled in a circle on the floor and discussed strategy. Brinkley promised that if we left he would meet with us the next day; if we didn't leave, he said, the Administration would find it hard to make policy changes in response to an overnight sit-in.

At about 8 pm, tired and highly ambivalent, we left Low. We had shown more force than before and figured that if the next day's meetings didn't yield real results, we could always come back.

The next day, students at UC Riverside and UC Berkeley occupied the offices of their respective chancellors demanding that their schools join the DSP. Police mobilized, students rallied outside, and the local press descended. By nightfall 28 students had been arrested. Following that, UCR officials "virtually locked down the fourth-floor offices of top campus administrators," according to Riverside Press Enterprise. In the meantime, SEEJ students were sitting peacefully in another meeting with the Administration—this time finally making real progress. President Bollinger agreed to join a working group of schools committed to the DSP, and although he insisted that Columbia needed to make sure the program didn't violate anti-trust regulation, he said that the University would make an honest effort at implementation.

Why did the Columbia sit-in end in agreement instead of arrest? The first reason is that SEEJ was able to advocate for the program on its merits. Law professor Mark Barenberg, who sits on the WRC's advisory committee and helped design the DSP, was integral in convincing the Administration that this program is a viable solution to the problem of sweatshop labor. Students without people like Barenberg on their side have to make the case on their own. Second, for all of the legitimate student complaints, the key decision makers at Columbia are ultimately interested in seeing international working conditions improve. Bollinger and Brinkley were liberals long before they became administrators and politicians. Third, at the beginning of April, student activism regarding issues of race, hate, and financial aid was reaching crescendo, and Columbia certainly did not want a relatively small sit-in to escalate. SEEJ's success suggests that solidarity and cooperation between the activist groups on campus is essential if more difficult battles are to be won.

Finally, SEEJ was successful because we weren't asking for much. The Designated Suppliers Program is not a radical approach to improving workers' lot. That the year's major victory for one of the most visible activist groups on one of the most liberal campuses in the country was to pressure its university into negotiations over a program that would enforce an existing code of conduct is not, I fear, particularly inspirational.

ADY BARKAN will graduate this May from Columbia College. He likes grilled vegetables, The West Wing, and Calvin and Hobbes.