Letters to me, to you I.
It has been fifteen, maybe seventeen, maybe over twenty years since my first sabotage. For an investigation, we visited factory farm with so called broiler chickens. We got in but the hall was empty. My collegue turned and was about to leave. I stood there, thinking of all those little birds that lived and died here. I was thinking about those who survived just to be transported and slaughtered.
My collegue was waiting at the door. I got angry. That anger was as empty as this hall. And I started destroying everything that I was able to destroy. Drinkers, feeders, lamps, switches, door, cement bags leaning against a wall, ripped the wiring off the wall, anything. I wrecked some stuff with my bare hands, for other stuff I used crowbar. My collegue came back to join me.
I didn’t feel better nor worse. There was no satisfaction in it. I just couldn’t leave and let things as they were. After all, they will bring another chicks in just a few days. They will crawl around with crippled genetics, crying for their mums, attacking each other, dying and surviving.
December 2016
