In the range of social-justice issues clamoring for our attention, clothing doesn’t tend to rank very high. We often think of what we wear as an individual choice of self-expression rather than an ethical decision. But more and more, consumers, activists, and legislators have come to understand the complex set of issues that come with making, selling, and buying clothing.
The clothing that we wear every day is the result of expansive—and opaque—supply chains spread throughout the world that have a profound effect on people and the planet. Most garment makers are underpaid and overworked women in the Global South. Brands churn out clothes at such a staggering rate that consumers can’t keep up—and neither can the environment. Apparel production strains natural resources and pollutes communities with no signs of stopping.
Many apparel companies have departed the United States for greener pastures—countries with lower wages and fewer worker protections—and so the U.S. government has only so much control over what these companies do. But within our own borders, abuses are still taking place. In Los Angeles County, the apparel capital of the United States, garment workers labor to create the clothing we wear, enduring exploitative working conditions and scant pay. Across the country, corporations and consumers discard clothes—which rot in local waterways and burden vulnerable communities with textile waste—in record numbers.
This situation has caught the attention of both policymakers and activists, and labor groups have accelerated garment-worker-justice campaigns across the United States. Before the pandemic, longstanding organizations like the Garment Worker Center rallied behind L.A. garment workers to secure workplace protections and dignified wages and to crack down on unfair compensation practices, such as piece-rate pay (where workers are paid on a per-item basis instead of hourly). The start of the COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated preexisting industry ills and rendered workers ever more vulnerable. In the early stages of the pandemic, for example, garment workers were tasked with making PPE—yet those same workers were not provided with any protections.
The pandemic’s start inspired immediate action, albeit through remote and creative channels, by labor-rights organizations and activists in defense of garment workers. When global apparel companies canceled complete or in-process orders in spring 2020, researchers gathered data and shared their findings with nonprofit organizations, whose supporters pressured companies to pay their workers through the #PayUp campaign.
At the same time, workers fought for better conditions through on-the-ground action in the factories where they worked. In 2020 and 2021, GWC members and L.A. garment workers advocated for worker-centric legislation like Bill SB-62, The Garment Worker Protection Act, which sought to replace piece-rate pay with an industry-wide requirement to pay hourly wages.
The GWC, alongside state senator María Elena Durazo, assemblywoman Lorena Gonzalez, and other members of the community, organized events in California to garner support for Bill SB-62, from press conferences to postcard-sending soirées to virtual events with student organizations like United Students Against Sweatshops (USAS). Through their efforts, Bill SB-62 gained momentum in the California legislature and was passed into law by Gov. Gavin Newsom in September 2021.
Bill SB-62 sent shockwaves through the statewide apparel industry—and has already shifted national attitudes about garment workers’ rights. It inspired The FABRIC Act, a federal bill that was introduced in the Senate on May 12, 2022, by New York senator Kirsten Gillibrand. Like Bill SB-62, The FABRIC Act would eliminate piece-rate pay and introduce other legal mechanisms to protect garment workers across the country, regardless of state or locale. As of this writing, the bill is still under consideration by the Senate.
Legislative interest in tracking and addressing apparel’s environmental harms is also growing. In March 2023, California senator Josh Newman introduced Bill SB-707, The Responsible Textile Recovery Act. The bill holds apparel producers responsible for textile waste and introduces circularity to the industry through an extended-producer responsibility (EPR) program, which assigns producers responsibility for their products throughout the product’s life cycle. It is the first EPR framework proposed in the United States and was signed into law in September. On the federal level, Maine congresswoman Chellie Pingree, Washington D.C.’s Marie Gluesenkamp Perez, and California’s Sydney Kamlager-Dove established the the Slow Fashion Caucus, which promises to grow recycling and repair infrastructure, incentivize sustainable production processes, and fuel further sustainable policies across constituencies.
As these movements for justice in the apparel industry gain momentum, the Catholic Church would do well to lend its support. From Laborem exercens to Laudato si’, the Church tackles labor and environmental injustices head-on. The Catholic intellectual tradition recognizes that that labor, humanitarian, and environmental crises are at their core spiritual crises—signs of human activity divorced from respect for God’s handiwork—and has ample resources to respond to them. The Church has spoken on the essential interconnectedness of all created beings (see Pope Francis on integral ecology). And while the Church has yet to mention fashion or the garment industry in an encyclical, Catholics can easily translate Church teachings to address industry ills.
For example, the architects of Bill SB-62 acknowledged the faithful grounding of their legislative pursuits in an interview with the National Catholic Reporter. Speaking with journalist Melissa Cedillo, Reps. Durazo and Gonzalez said that “their Catholic faith inspires them to fight for labor and union justice.”
Now, the Church has an opportunity to apply its insights to our clothes and the garment industry writ large. The Church devotes attention to the agricultural industry and farmworkers, to food and tilling the earth—yet farmers who raise cattle also shear sheep for wool, and some grow plants that are also used to create clothing. We read papal encyclicals about fossil fuels, oil, and plastic pollution while wearing clothes made from polyester (an oil-based, plastic fabric). We listen to sermons exhorting us to honor God’s gifts in creation while apparel companies produce clothes at such accelerated speeds that they threaten ecosystems and expend natural resources. Concerns about clothing fit well into what the Church already speaks about.
The Church also has the ability to be an international voice, reaching people and commenting on systems beyond the borders of U.S. legislators and activists. For example, it could draw attention to the fact that our well-meant clothing donations are sent to countries in Africa, like Ghana, where they undermine local economies and pollute communities. What of the fact that our cheap Temu and SHEIN purchases are made by exploited workers, increase carbon emissions, and contain carcinogens? The Catholic tradition can speak to these and other quandaries raised by our clothes.
The Church doesn’t need to convene a slow fashion caucus—but it should add its voice to the growing chorus of concern for clothing’s environmental and humanitarian footprint. In doing so, the Church pursues the Apostle Paul’s call to “clothe ourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 13:14).
