Now there were forty protesters left. Some of the others stayed home, claiming they were sick. A few went looking for other work, finding it in similar sweatshops. And a dozen had climbed into the factory through a rear window and were actually working—hoping to curry favor with the supervisors once the protest was squashed. As it would certainly be. The government favored the corporations, as it always had. The world press was denied access to the town once the strike started, and only handpicked reporters were allowed to cover the event. What they wrote was mostly cut and pasted from corporate headquarters, the government’s public relations office, or from articles from The Capitalist and other magazines or news services slanted toward the owners.

Darmana had read a few of those. Articles that said the pay rate of Rp22453.90 was more than enough to live on in both comfort and luxury. Those articles, written for Western readers who would be drawn to the number and not the value. In truth, the rupiah was crumbling, and this factory’s pay rate of Rp99379.29 worked out to $6.45 in American dollars. Below even the national minimum wage. Not enough to survive on, what with agriculture production still recovering from COVID-19 and stores raising their prices to maximize profits during shortages. More than 70 percent of Darmana’s meager pay went to food, and that was hardly a feast. Many working parents like her were half-starved so that their children and grandparents could eat. Debt mounted, and since the company that owned the factory also controlled the banks, there was nowhere to go but further down the poverty hole.

Darmana had hoped that by forming a small union and blockading the factory, the corporation fat cats would realize it was better to offer sensible—if small—raises rather than lose money from production slowdowns. She’d sent carefully written letters to the executives and foremen, pleading for those raises. Not a lot. The workers did not want to leave their jobs, but was it too much to ask for money to live? To put enough food on the table? To buy clothes for the children? To buy schoolbooks and to have enough for them to visit a clinic every now and then? It was so little to ask. Some of the celebrity-endorsed sneakers made in her factory sold for anywhere from $800 to $6,000 American dollars. Six thousand was three times as much as Darmana earned in a year working fourteen-hour shifts six days a week. Surely, the executives would find it in their hearts to offer a little more. Only a little.