He was
seeing beyond the surfaces of the land to its hidden truths. Some nights he sat
up late on his front porch with a glass of Jack and listened to the trucks
heading south on 220, carrying crates of live chickens to the
slaughterhouses—always under cover of darkness, like a vast and shameful
trafficking—chickens pumped full of hormones that left them too big to walk—and
he thought how these same chickens might return from their destination as
pieces of meat to the floodlit Bojangles’ up the hill from his house, and that
meat would be drowned in the bubbling fryers by employees whose hatred of the
job would leak into the cooked food, and that food would be served up and eaten
by customers who would grow obese and end up in the hospital in Greensboro with
diabetes or heart failure, a burden to the public, and later Dean would see
them riding around the Mayodan Wal-Mart in electric carts because they were too
heavy to walk the aisles of a Supercenter, just like hormone-fed chickens.
from
The Great Unwinding by George Packer, reviewed by Thomas Frank, who
says “what Packer calls 'the unwinding' was
not an act of nature; it was a work of ideology.”
No comments:
Post a Comment