Web of Interdependence

In Detroit, every morning before I go to work, I enjoy a cup of coffee from Starbucks with my morning newspaper. It is worth

the $4.00/cup I pay for it! As I sipped this morning, it was disturbing to read about a bombing that occurred in the

Middle East. It is so tragic.

I work on a coffee farm in Mexico. I am paid the equivalent of $3.00 (U.S.) for every 100 pounds of coffee that I pick—

typically a day’s work. That would be like working a full day in the United States for $20.00. I cannot survive on this amount.

I am a reporter for the Washington Post. I cover the Middle East for the World section, specializing in the ongoing conflict

between Israelis and Palestinians. I am trying to help Americans understand how its dependence on foreign oil from the Middle

East is impacting civilians here.

I just bought a Chevrolet Suburban to commute to work. I live in the suburbs—and drive 30 miles to work, and from work,

everyday. I hate all the traffic, but my neighborhood was growing, how shall we say, shady. I wanted my children to go

to good schools.

I shuttle my kids to and from private schools every day. The school is twelve miles from our house, but it is worth the drive. I fill my car a couple of times a week at the Texaco station on

the corner. I cannot believe how much gasoline costs. It is robbery.

I am a Palestinian. I live on the West Bank, but my job is in the Muslim Quarter of Jerusalem in Israeli territory. I head to work

at 4 a.m. because it takes several hours to pass through the checkpoint. Israelis often close the border. If I miss work

again, I am going to lose my job.

I am an Israeli soldier, stationed at a checkpoint between the West Bank and Jerusalem. My brother died last year in an

explosion in a Tel Aviv commercial district. You never know which Palestinian passing through is a terrorist. Which one is

going to detonate the next bomb?

I am a Israeli nurse who responded to the emergency in Tel Aviv. We were able to save some lives when the bomb was detonated—but I am experiencing post-traumatic stress

disorder after seeing so many dead and wounded. Why must we live in fear?

I am a technician in Israel who was on a team to develop Israeli telcom infrastructure. We have enabled emergency calls

to be placed from anywhere in Israel. I am hopeful that this will help our medical personnel respond to save more Jewish

lives.

I am a miner in the Congo. The mine where I work produces the coltan that supplies the coolant for cell phones, DVD players,

PlayStations, and computers for manufacturers in the U.S. and elsewhere. Many men in our mine smuggle coltan across the

border to militias who pay top dollar for it.

I bought the new iPhone. The old one was so slow, and it didn’t have enough storage for all my photos, music, and

videos.

I am a coltan miner’s wife. Militia fighters came to our home a few months ago. They raped me, and threatened to do so again, in order to coerce my husband to smuggle coltan out

of the mine. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

I am the miner’s daughter. Mom is too frightened to walk to the river for water now, so I have dropped out of school and

draw water from a river two miles from our home each day. It is our only source of drinking water, but it is very polluted.

Fresh water is a problem for us, too, in Ecuador. My little one was born last year with fused fingers. Rumors are that pollution left behind by Texaco is to blame for the birth

defects that started appearing here shortly after their arrival.

I am one of the so-called “mules” that passes small amounts of marijuana across the border from Ecuador through

Guatemala into Mexico and to the U.S. I want to stop, but I’m afraid the cartels will kill my family. Maybe I’ll find a way out.

I am a farm worker in Afghanistan. A landowner here can make $800 per acre by planting opium poppy. Wheat only brings in

half that amount. While some vegetables can earn almost twice as much (shallots, onions, and tomatoes), we do not have enough

fresh water to grow them here.

I was growing crops in Latin America, too, until miners started stripping the rainforests here for hardwood floors. A mudslide

from all the mining destroyed my crops. Now I’m landless, homeless, and hungry. I cannot even look at my wife and

children. I have failed them.

I answered an advertisement for work, and found myself working at a garment factory. We have overloaded ceilings, exposed cables, few fire alarms, no sprinklers, and locked

emergency exits. We are not allowed to leave until the end of our sixteen-hour shift.

When I answered an ad, I was given a passport and promised adventure. They took my picture at Glamour Shots, and promised

me a career in modeling. The next thing I knew, I was flying to Bangkok for a photo shoot. I didn’t know I would be trapped in a

brothel. Now I have AIDS.

I work in Mexico. Luckily, I still have work. I assemble automobiles for Volkwagen. We led a strike against VW in 2002

because we were making about $15 a day. US auto workers make $24 / hour, in cities with a low cost of living. Why is my

labor worth so little, and theirs so much?

I live in Detroit, and drive a Volkswagen (despite all the pressure around here to buy GM). Our city is increasingly

economically depressed. We foreclosed on our home. I’m not sure how we are going to make ends meet. I’m anxious about

the future.

I’m in Detroit, living in a neighborhood with a bunch of foreclosed homes. My property rates have plummeted, and

now we’re upside down on our mortgage. Even so, I miss my neighbor. I’m going to treat him to a cup of coffee next week to

see how he’s doing.

In Detroit, every morning before I go to work, I enjoy a cup of coffee from Starbucks with my morning newspaper. It is worth

the $4.00/cup I pay for it! As I sipped this morning, it was disturbing to read about a bombing that occurred in the

Middle East. It is so tragic.