The University of Michigan is a commercial empire, and like all empires, the University is built on invisible labor. But no industry ties the University more visibly to the global economy of exploitation than the one stitched into its own brand. The Block ‘M’ travels further than most corporate logos. You see it everywhere — on sidelines, on bumper stickers, on shelves in Tokyo, on the backs of students who have never set foot in Ann Arbor. Nike pays more than $173 million to license that logo. The collegiate apparel market it feeds is projected to grow from $9.2 billion to $15.4 billion by 2033.
But behind every hoodie with that Block ‘M’ is a worker whose name the University does not know, in a factory it cannot locate, in conditions it has never asked about. The University moves millions of dollars’ worth of licensed apparel every year. It knows the revenue to the decimal, but the majority of factories where that apparel was made remain a mystery.
The global garment industry depends on distance and deniability. In these fragmented supply chains, a single T-shirt might begin as cotton picked in Brazil, spun into yarn in Bangladesh, woven into fabric in China, dyed in Morocco and finally stitched together in Guatemala — all to save a few cents per garment. Brands like Nike employ a subcontracting model, where each handoff diffuses responsibility. Each layer of subcontracting makes it harder to trace who made what, under what conditions and at what human and environmental cost. No single brand owns all the factories where the damage can occur, so no single brand is ever fully on the hook. When workers organize to demand better conditions, the brands simply move production somewhere cheaper. Labor solidarity is not just undercut; it is priced out.
The tag on your hoodie is only where the fabric was finally assembled. Every stage that came before — from the fiber production to the dyeing — is hidden. Industry research has consistently shown that severe abuses occur at every stage of the supply chain, including the ones the tag was never required to name.
Last summer, as a delegate from Students for International Labor Solidarity, I traveled to Honduras to see that system up close. I sat in a room packed wall to wall with textile workers, who lined up one by one to speak into a single microphone. They had spent years stitching, cutting, pressing — without ever being told which brands profited from the garments they produced. That information was not for them. Our delegation returned from Honduras with one clear conclusion: The workers making University apparel also have no voice in the system that profits from their labor.
After returning to Ann Arbor, the University’s SILS chapter met with the University’s licensing director to confirm what we had suspected. The University receives information only about Tier 1 suppliers — the final cut-and-sew facilities where garments are assembled. An institution that sends researchers to the ends of the earth in pursuit of knowledge can not tell you who dyed the cotton in its hoodies. That is what launched the Follow The Thread campaign — a global call, led by SILS national and partner organizations at universities across the country, demanding that schools trace and disclose their full apparel supply chains.
Here is what makes this inexcusable: Under the University’s own code of conduct, it is required to enforce full tier disclosure. The code states this plainly:
“Each Licensee shall disclose to the CLC, the collegiate institution, or its designee the location (including factory name, contact name, address, phone number, e-mail address, products produced, and nature of business association) of each factory used in the production of all items which bear Licensed Indicia.”
That means every factory — not just the one that sews the final seam. The term “licensee” should encompass a licensee’s contractors, subcontractors and all manufacturers involved in producing University-licensed goods. The rules already cover the full supply chain. University licensees are simply not complying — and the University has never asked them to. The policy is there, but the University chooses not to enforce it.
Why would every brand not comply with a rule they agreed to follow? Because no one is forcing them to. When transparency becomes optional, capital opts out. This system is only possible because consumers are isolated from producers. Unquestioning consumption depends on a story — that the product arriving at your door is clean, simple and frictionless. But the true supply chain is discrete, brutal and relentless.
Throughout the semester, the Follow The Thread campaign has gained support on campus, reflecting an enduring commitment to the anti-sweatshop movement. SILS has put forward a resolution calling on the University President’s Advisory Committee on Labor Standards and Human Rights to begin enforcing the University’s own standards. The proposal builds on a history of campus organizing that forced accountability from an institution that ultimately profits from exploitative global supply chains.
Today, as campus unions — from U-M nurses to non-tenured track faculty — fight for stronger contracts, the stakes are clear. The same logic that allows the University to ignore labor abuses abroad is what drives it to resist workers at home. Supply chain transparency is what this moment demands; it forces the University to confront all the workers it depends on, across every stage of production. In doing so, it begins to rebuild the solidarities this system is designed to break. If the University refuses to follow the thread, we must pull until its seams split open.
Alex Sepulveda is President of Students For International Labor Solidarity. He can be reached at alexsep@umich.edu.
