Google Monster Sighting
The American public should be aware that there is a monster roaming the streets of middle America. Its called the Google monster and he is taking pictures of your neighborhood. I have been lucky enough to capture a picture of him which you can see below. He is a greedy monster who lives off all source media. His ravenous appetite will not be satisfied till all the pictures, videos and word the world over can be captured and made available via the Internet.
I haven’t seen him in real life so I’m not sure weather I should be scared or not…
Speicher, The Man Behind the Name
Military bases in Iraq generally have one of four types of names: a name honoring a fallen soldier, a name glorifying the fighting spirit (Warrior, Warhorse, Danger), a name expounding American values (Liberty, Freedom) or the name of the city in which its in (Taji, Ramadi). One base I was on, FOB Brassfield-Mora is a combination of two names, Spc Artimus D. Brassfield and Jose L. Mora (5 different Moras have died in Iraq) who both died in during mortar attacks in October 2003. Its happens to be only name which I can associate with an eye witness’ account. My old sergeant major was the eye witness. He told our entire Brigade what happened that day to get us mentally prepared for our second tour. Hearing him speak humanized the names. I might have known that it represent fallen soldiers but a memorial doesn’t embed the story into your head like a real life survivor’s tale. Now, every time I hear the name “Brassfield-Mora” I recall my sergeant major’s story. Before, I just thought of an Army-run chow hall and giant mounds of rotting corn. People who’ve been there know what I’m talking about.
During the same tour of duty that I lived on Forward Operating Base (FOB) Brassfield-Mora, I also lived on FOB Speicher. But I never knew the story behind the name. It sounded more like something involving a Spike than someone’s name. No one every explained it to me. And I never encountered a memorial.
A week and a half ago, I learned about the man behind the name. The informant was the Foreign Policy Magazine blog post. Turns out, Michael “Scott” Speicher was the first official casualty of the gulf war. He was a F/A-18 Hornet pilot who was shot down over Iraqi airspace. The FP post explains, along with accompanying news articles (here, here) that Speicher was declared killed in action by the DoD but the decision was recently reversed by a Naval Review board. The articles mention Dick Cheney, then Secretary of Defense, as the decider of for the classification.
The story bothers me because I was indoctrinated as a soldier to believe that you “never leave a fallen comrade.” Its embedded into the Soldiers Creed. I don’t understand why the DOD didn’t spent more time looking for the downed aircraft. I don’t believe that our United States Air Force and Navy would have failed to find it, if it were given the proper priority in the immediate aftermath. And if the real reason is due to lack of any type of search as the articles suggest then the story of Michael “Scott” Speicher represents a regretful failure of our military leaders. Read the story, tell me what you think.
Its spooky to think about the possibility of Michael Speicher, the man to which the base owes its name, surviving this long in a hostile Iraq. Its enough to keep Naval Commanders up at night.
Email Alert: PE Obama Needs Your $Help$!
I keep getting these emails from barackobama.com asking me for money. They arrive in my inbox claiming to be from Barack and Joe himself but I have my doubts. They want me to join the inaugural sweepstakes to further the cause of change. The minimum donation in order to be eligible for this sweepstakes is 100 dollars. They send emails like this regularly, about twice a week.
I can understand trying to raise money during the campaign, but we already elected these guys to office. We have given them power. I thought that was the exclusive intent of political campaign contributions. These emails seem like as way of taxing supporters. Its a voluntary tax, in their words, to help “change” politics. Its a change alright, taxing supporters to do work in Washington. I thought the office itself was the power that was needed.
Where is the money going? According to the last email I received from Joe Biden, its going to pay off Hillary Clintons debt. So, Barack Obama supporters being asked to paying down debts that were accrued by purchasing crappy TV commercials?
100 dollars is alot of money when your struggling to pay your mortgage. Or when you are unemployed. The Obama campaign likes to tout the fact that they draw their support from your average citizen but is contributing 100 dollars to the Obama inaugural festivities (or Hillary’s debt) in the interest of Mr. Average Joe and his family?
I think the answer is clear.
I’m disappointed by the emails because I see them as a way of exploiting emotional supporters. Does Obama need the money more than his supporters do? I don’t think so. Why tap them of their resources? Just because they are willing to give doesn’t mean they should be taken advantage of.
At this stage in the game will the contributions of average citizens to Barack Obama produce dividens in public policy? You might say yes because indirectly you are supporting the Democratic party, which supporters might feel provides to the most in the way of helping them and their community. But that sort of thinking has no end. Because they Democratic party won’t stop until they control every seat in congress on the federal level and on the state level, and on the local level for that matter. Their is no way of satisfying the wants of the democratic party. And the average citizen should not be asked to do so on such a macro level.
I see it this way: I contributed money to the Barack Obama campaign because I wanted to see him become president. Its okay for the campaign to ask me for money for that purpose. But once they are elected to office, why should he need more of my money? Isn’t that just a backward way of taxing? The emails are phrased with slogans. Support Change. Continue the work to bring change to Washington. Shit like that.
They aren’t being fair about where this money is going. Is it going to pay for Obama’s train ticket to Washington? I think he has enough in the bank to cover that. Or is it going to fund the interests of the Democratic party in future elections?
Fundraising for the Democratic party is legitimate but I would appreciate more clarity in the Obama emails, especially when it involves the cash flow of regular households
God-Knows-Somewhere-America
I know that the town is in Williams county. And Williams county is somewhere in Ohio. The town has a building that says “Veteran’s Memorial” on the side. It looks like a rec center more than a memorial. Maybe its a museum. The backdrop is farmland. I don’t know for sure it if was farmland because it was dark and there was snow on the ground. The snow helped the feeling of darkness.
I had told myself that I would drive to the lights of the town, no further. I didn’t want to travel too far from the highway-side-Ramada. I was right to do so because this town in Williams county Ohio temporarily healed the loneliness of solitary highway driving that hits me especially hard at night.
“Welcome to America, Matthew,” the town said.
“Towns like you are dead,” I said, “you’re just a shell.”
The town didn’t respond.
I needed food–real food. The combos and red bulls were sitting in my throat instead of my stomach. A meal was my way of apologizing to my stomach.
“We don’t have cuisine like third world countries” I told the town. “there, they respect food and eat in community. All you give me is convent store crap, bottles of soda, bags of chips”
Again, it didn’t respond.
I continued driving through the town. On a side street I spotted my target: “Tano’s Pizza” –”OPEN”(neon). I parked and walked in. There was a lady at the counter.
“do you have an order?”
“no”
She pulled out a tablet. I read over the menu. I’m a slow reader. I didn’t want to upset her so I tried to read fast.
“I’ll have an Italian sub, garlic toast and…uhh… a drink”
She pointed to the soda cooler.
“And two pepsis”
She wrote “POP” on her tablet, “It’ll be 15 minutes”
“Okay” I sat down.
The back of the neon sign said “made in America” The place was clean. There were at least 5 female employees. One was the matriarch. I was sure—Proud-to-be-an-American-Matriarch-owner. I sat there and wondered if the delivery man was a guy. Later, a guy showed up at the door with a lite cigarette. He was wearing a Carhart jacket like mine. He stuffed out his cigarette and walked in. His floppy pizza bag came into view.
He was a guy.
I waited for 10 minutes. The girl at the counter handed me a paper bag and two cans of pepsi,”Have a good night”
“you too”
I got in my car and opened up the bag— a sandwich and toast. They were both warm. The “toast” was more like cheesy bread. It exceeded my expectations and made me very happy. It made up for the sore feeling that was created by failing (in my haste) to get the “delux” or the “supreme” sub. And I forgot to ask for pickles.
An appetizing smell filled my car on the way back to the hotel.
Two resturants were advertized by signs in the hotel parking lot. I had somehow failed to see them on the way out. One was a ‘family’ resturant located on the inside of the hotel. The second was a pizza place. If I had seen the family resturant I would have chosen it.
I think God wanted me to eat at Tano’s but I can’t be sure.
The italian sandwich and garlic cheese bread was much better than third-world rice, raisin and lamb. My stomach didn’t forgive me.
WRITTEN in its entirety on a hotel notepad in a highway side Ramada while simultaneously eating a warm and delicious sub—by a veteran of the Armed Forces of the United States of America.
Thanks 7-11! You Rock!
This post is a tribute to 7-11, the great worldwide convience store franchise that brought you the slurpie and what my dad and I liked to call “barf burgers”. They weren’t actually barf inducing. I liked ‘em, especially the boneless bbq rib.
Ive become quite fond of the 7-11 in my apartment complex. It’s a classy operation. The serve-yourself coffee section is always clean and well stocked with lids, stirring straws and creamer. Read my ATM card statement in any given month, and you’ll see that 7-11 is an almost daily fixture in my life. Its where I go to get important supplies for sustenance, like coffee, red bull, hostess donuts, a half-gallons of milk or snickers bars. Im not a big slurpee fan.
The people that work at my 7-11 are great. I don’t know their names. I’ve only exchanged a few syllables with them at a given time. But I know if they were to be replaced, I’d miss them. They are familiar to me. I like seeing them everyday. Lets hope they continue working at 7-11 forever!
Apple Valley CA – quite possibly the first 7-11 I ever steped foot into. Likely where I had my first slurpee, although I can’t recall the memory.
Not much to look at.
Silver Spring, MD
You can find me here 9am and 11pm daily.
According to my independent and unverified research, this store is the closest to the location of the first 7-11 which was a makeshift storefront in the dock of an Ice factory in Dallas in 1927. I bet the people who go here have no idea the historical significance! the Shame!
The franchisee 7-11 is owned by a Japanese company, did you know that?
Modern Day Heretic
I just listened to the latest episode of This American Life on npr. It was pretty compelling, so I thought I’d share it with all of you who might not be regular listeners to npr or This American Life. This weeks episode is about Carlton Pearson, a evangelical pastor who was essentially thrown out of the church for preaching against the doctrine of eternal damnation. You can listen to the story here. As you might remember I tackled the idea of eternal damnation on this blog back in Dec 07.
What’s interesting about Carton Pearsons teachings are his claims that it represents what is truly Christianity. In other words, he doesn’t say that he has rejected Christianity but that he is embracing the true doctrine of the gospels. It’s a bold claim that obviously razzles a lot of Christians. Listen to the story and let me know what you think! I might post more thoughts and ideas about this story later on.
Peace.
More Than Chili
I should have responded by ordering the book on Amazon.com and then plan out a time to visit the restaurant. But I procrastinated. I thought to myself, “The book and the place will be there when I get around to starting.” Such a passive approach to schoolwork rarely proves beneficial. In this case however, it worked out. Two weeks after I came across the blog post, I attended a Mason Jennings concert at the 9:30 Club on V Street in DC. V is one letter up from U, but I didn’t care to note the significance at the time. When my friends and I got off the metro to go to the concert, we happened to walk down U Street. And there, beaming its neon “open” sign down on us was Ben’s Chili Bowl, looking just the same as it did in the retro cover photo of the “Images of America” book. Unknowingly, I was graced with the opportunity to turn my irresponsible Wednesday night concert going into primary research time for my paper. I told my friends, “We’re gonna get some chili tonight”. I wasn’t open to counterproposals.
The concert let out around midnight and, true to my plans, we headed back down U street to get some chili. Luckily for us, Ben’s is open till 2AM on weekdays (4AM on weekends). When we arrived, we were greeted by a homeless man who was opening the door for patrons in hopes of weaseling money. He supplemented the act of opening the door with excessive phrases of servitude. Being that my two friends, Ali and Sep, are smiley, carefree and generous girls, the homeless man rudely seized the on the impression they made and asked Sep for a hug. This action occurred right after his soliloquy about humility and right before he opened door. Embarrassed and suspicious, Sep said “No”. The homeless man realized that he went too far and started backpedaling, “It’s just the way I show my love… my preacher always asks me, why you always so happy? Why you the only one in church always smiling and always singing? I tell him… God moves in me.” He thumped his fist to his chest and continued. “I wake up in the morning and I’m happy cause I’m living.” He spoke in this way for a couple of minutes, and his words left a remarkable impression of genuineness. Sep was near tears. For a second I thought, was I totally wrong to feel distain for this guy? Is this an angel of God or something? Or is he just a crafty beggar who knows how to sound convincing in his remorse? Either way, his words had a positive effect. His speech changed our approach of sharp caution to playful engagement (at arms length). We weren’t going to hug him, but we talked and thanked him for opening the door.
When we stepped inside, I noticed a poster on the wall advertising the book: “For Sale, Ask Cashier.” “How perfect?” I thought, “Kill two birds with one stone: visit my DC landmark and collect my primary source.” To top it off, Ben’s Chili Bowl turned out to be a trendy after-party spot. The line at the counter was full of young, concert-going, bar-hopping hipsters, who, like us, thought chili after midnight sounded like a brilliant idea.
“Summer Breeze” by Seals and Crofts was blaring over the jukebox while we waited in line. I started singing along and was immediately chided by the friendly homeless man, “Whatchu know about ‘Summer Breeze’?” He abandoned his door opening business to show me some dance moves and a belt out a more genuine rendition of the song. When we finally made it to the cashier, I ordered a bowl of chili and a vanilla shake with the book on the side. My friend Ali had chili fries and a chocolate shake. Sep had a chili veggie burger and a chocolate shake. We sat down on the bar stools in front of the traditional open grill, the likes of which can been seen in any Waffle House, and I started flipping through my new book. I was disappointed to discover that it was mostly pictures, hence the name “Images of America”. The pictures were of black celebrities, actors, activists, politicians, athletes and prominent community members eating at the restaurant. There were several pictures of Bill Cosby, who I learned from the book, took his future wife on a date to Ben’s back in the day and has been a faithful patron ever since. He is a celebrity of particular adulation at Ben’s, as a sign behind the counter gives notice: “People who eat free: Bill Cosby, and no one else” (Author’s note: the sign was recently amended to read, “Bill Cosby, the Obama family”)
What is made clear in the book is that Ben’s Chili Bowl is an important place in Washington DC. To its credit, it was inducted into the DC Hall of Fame in the business category in 2001. It won the Gallo of Sonoma Award, “American Classic” in 2004. And beyond any award it might receive, it is widely recognized in the black community all across America as a culturally significant spot. What is not clear in the book is, why? Is it simply the famous chili dogs AKA “half-smokes” or something more? The food is an important part. Bill Cosby attests, “All I need is six half-smokes and a good woman and my life will be complete.” But as I see it, that “something more” that makes Ben’s Chili Bowl so revered is derived from four factors that are subtlety apparent the story of its creation and survival: location, an enterprising spirit, diligence and family values.
Part of what makes Ben’s Chili Bowl so special is its location in the nation’s capital. Washington DC is obviously a tourist destination because of its monuments and impressive government buildings. But it is also famous for the role it has played in African American history. After the Civil War, the number of African Americans living in DC rose dramatically due to it being one of the southern most pro-union cities. By 1900 it had the highest percentage of African Americans of any city in the United States (McQuirter 4). Naturally, such a high centralization of the African American community lead DC to be an important place for art-sharing, black enterprise and education. The Shaw neighborhood which contains the section of U street where Ben’s is located, particularly experienced this growth. Howard University, referred to as the “capstone of Negro education”, is 8 blocks east of Ben’s. And U Street spawned many theatres and jazz clubs that showcased black talent. In its heyday, the area was known as “Black Broadway.” Athough Ben’s Chili Bowl didn’t arrive on the scene until 1958, it still embodies the time when Duke Ellington (a Shaw native), Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald and Nat King Cole were regular performers on in the DC circuit. It’s a standing representation of that era.
Another remarkable quality is it’s family roots. At the center of that family are the two founders, Ben and Virgina. Ben’s real name is Mahabood Ben Ali. He is an immigrant from Trinidad who arrived in DC in the 1950s to study dentistry. An accident forced him to give up his studies but an enterprising sprit lead him to invest $5000 dollars into converting an old silent theatre at 1312 U Street called the “Minnehaha” into a hot dog stand (Bennett 9, 10). He did banking at the Industrial Bank on 11th and U, one of the oldest and largest black owned banks in the country, which still stands to this day. This is where he met a young African American bank teller named Virginia Rollins. The two married on October 10, 1958 and the core of Ben’s Chili Bowl formed. From its first years to the present day, Ben’s has been a family owned and operated business. And it’s success can be attributed to the hard work and dedication that Ben and Virgina embody and have passed down to their three sons, Haidar, Kamal and Nizam (Bennett and Ali 12-13).
The course of their 50 year history has not been without dramatic trials which tested the family’s diligence. Just ten years after it’s founding, a national event caused a chain reaction that degraded life severely in the Shaw neighborhood. On April 4, 1968 Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis Tennessee. And riots broke out in DC. It started at the intersection of 14th and U (two blocks from Ben’s) when a local black leader named Stokely Carmichael went around to local business demanding that they close in remembrance of Dr. King. Frustration turned to anger. Anger turned to hatred. And hatred turned to chaos and lawlessness. Stokely Carmichael was not directly indicted in the riots but he is recognized as initiating some of hostilities the first night. When it was over the damage was estimated at 24 million. 7,600 people were arrested. 12 were killed. 900 business were damaged by rioters. (Gilbert 13, 32, 178) In a popular book about the riots called Ten Blocks from the White House, Ben Gilbert mentions the intersection of U Street and 14th as the “unofficial nerve center of active black leadership groups –the place to go with a grievance.” Dr. Kings Southern Christian Leadership conference, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored people all had offices nearby. It was the heart of the black community but it was also the hardest hit by the riots. The majority of the arsons, deaths and damages occurred in this 14ths street corridor and the 7th Street corridor between U to F street. (Gilbert 44) 14th Street is a couple blocks west of Ben’s Chili Bowl and 7th street is a few blocks east. Ben’s somehow avoided serious damages but other business in the area weren’t as fortunate.
Shaw, one of the hardest hit neighborhoods, was the slowest to recover (Diner 81) The era following Kings death was marked by an increase of drug traffickers, addicts and thugs on U street. More so than the riots themselves, this period present the gravest threat to their business. Rather than having to deal with benign preachy homeless men bothering the customers, it was faced with a more legitimate threat of violent assaults and the overall problem of community degradation. At the time, it didn’t have the luxury of being a tourist destination. It was just a hot dog stand in a rough part of town. Ben’s company survived the hard time and his example of hard work and longsuffering are qualities local government still want to encourage today. Urban blight continues to be a problem in many of DC’s neighbor hoods even if it has been reduced in immediate vicinity of Ben’s Chili Bowl. In 2004, DC ranked 9th among the 50 most populated cities in the US in the violent crime rate per capita (US Census Bureau 193).
But crime hasn’t been the only hazard of owning a business in DC. Metro stop construction project, which has been an impetus for gentrification, nearly put Ben’s out of business. The 4-year of construction turned U Street into a 60-foot crater. While construction workers lowered a huge steel support sections for the metro’s underground structures, the front doors of the restaurant were nearly inaccessible to customers. No monetary compensation was offered by the City to make up for lost revenue. The restaurant staff shrank to as few as two employees and only grossed between $100 and 200 dollars per day, mainly off the business of construction workers (Bennett and Ali 79,80). Just like the post riot period, Ben’s weathered the storm and gained wide admiration for doing so. Their resilience caused the city to name the ally way behind the restaurant Ben Ali Way because it served as the only artery to the restaurant customers during construction.
Today, Ben’s chili bowl is in a good location and is poised for continued growth. Its reputation has even allowed for a second stand to be built inside the new Washington Nationals stadium. The metro stop, which was the reason for my first encounter with the restaurant, makes it an easily accessible stop for DC sightseers. And now the baseball stadium expansion has made it a convenient place for baseball fans. But its important to note that neither the metro stop nor National Stadium were a factor in Ben’s original business plan as they have been for the speculators and developers in recent years. Ben’s place in DC is noteworthy because it is not something that spawned overnight. It reflects the history of DC; especially the Shaw neighborhood.
I went back to Ben’s Chili Bowl recently on a more deliberate research venture after having educated myself. I was much more sensitive to my surroundings. I noticed the man in a suit sitting in one of the booths and wondered if he was a government official. I noticed a well-dressed black couple sitting next to me at the bar and wondered if they were visiting from out of town. I watched the workers dance to the R&B music that was playing loudly overhead and wondered at the future role Ben’s would play for the 21st century U street community. I watched Ben’s son Kamel take inventory of straws, sugar packets and remind employees of individual meetings in his office. I considered the business values that Ben passed down to his sons, which were the only defense against an economically hazardous city. I knew that these values were not only important in handling unforeseen citywide problems but also necessary for dealing with the day-to-day troubles of door guarding hobos and lazy employees. These were the thoughts in my head as I filled my stomach with my first half smoke. When I was done, I was inclined to agree with Bill Cosby on the recipe for a happy life: 6 half smokes and a good woman.
Bennett, Tracy Gold and Nizam B. Ali. Images of America: Ben’s Chili Bowl. Chicago: Arcadia P, 2008.
Diner, Steven J. A History of the District of Columbia. Washington, DC: Associates for the Renewal of Education, Inc., 1979.
Gilber, Ben W. and The Staff of The Washington Post. Ten Blocks from the White House. New York: Praeger P, 1968.
McQcquirter, Marya Annette. African American Heritage Trail, Washington, DC. Washington, DC: Cultural Tourism DC, 2003.
Sommer, Mathis. “New Book Celebrates Ben’s Chili Bowl’s 50th Anniversary.” 2008. DCist. Sep 2008. <http://dcist.com/2008/08/11/new_book_ celebrates_bens_chili_bowl.php>
U.S. Census Bureau, Statistical Abstract of the United States: 2007 (126th edition). Washington DC, 2008
Immigrant Labor and the Meat Industry
On May 12 2008, a situation arose in a small town in the Midwest that exacerbated the tensions of the illegal immigration discussion. A meat packing plant called Agriprocessors was raided by immigration and customs enforcement officials (ICE) based on information regarding the falsification of social security numbers by it’s workers. ICE agents, armed with M16 and bullet proof vests, surrounded the facilities with helicopters and government vehicles. They detained at least three hundred suspected illegal immigrants. Hundreds of others, not present at the time, fled. The multimillion-dollar company left to clean up the mess was in shock. The town of Postville, Iowa was devastated. And all parties suffered as a result: the owners, the remaining workers, the markets, and the immigrants themselves. Company growth was stunted. Jobs were lost forever. Communities were shattered. And families were uprooted and forced to bear legal troubles and financial strife.
In the face of such devastation, who is to blame? The government for enforcing the law? The lawmakers for making the law? The immigrants for leaving their country because of poverty? Or the capitalists for employing the impoverished immigrant?
The issue of illegal immigration can be explored via any of these questions but I want to focus on one: Are capitalists to blame? Its an important question because our markets are based on aggressive capital enterprise. Our form of government encourages that enterprise. So, any attempt at to address the inherent problems forces us to take a hard look within ourselves and the society we live in. The meat industry is just one example of the reliance on cheap immigrant labor to fuel our markets and our economy. The ideas I will present related to immigrant labor in the meat industry can be applied to any hard labor oriented industry in the US. Let me begin by telling the story of Agriprocessors: its origin, the market forces that influenced its development and its labor practices.
In the mid 1980’s, a successful and industrious kosher butcher named Aaron Rubashkin expanded his New York City based butcher shop by purchasing an old meat packing facility in Postville, Iowa. The reason for the move was market driven. It was more economical to expand the business in the Midwest where cattle is prevalent and land is cheap than it was to expand in New York City. He purchased an old plant formerly called Hygrade meat and transformed it into Agriprocessors.
Postville is typical of small town Iowa. It’s in the middle of nowhere. It is surrounded on all sides by corn and soybean as far as the eye can see. Two square blocks make up downtown. There is one grocery store, two gas stations, a few restaurants and two bars. Excluding Friday nights during high school football season and the hours right after the bars close, nothing exciting happens in Postville. The highlight of a workingman’s week might be the forty-five minute drive to Wal-Mart. It isn’t the most logical place for a community of orthodox Jews to take up residence but industry demands prevailed.
The plant has become the central feature of the town in the last twenty years. It is the lifeblood that animates everything around it. It employs nine hundred people in a town of about two thousand. The dull grey buildings that make up the Agriprocessors complex house a hi-tech processing capacity that sustains those jobs. The chickens and cows which are brought in by the thousands daily smell bad but their purchase contributes to the markets all across the Midwest. The money that the company brings to the local economy helps restore houses and stimulate business growth. It buys the lawn mowers that keep the yards looking nice. It buys the bicycles that keep the kids happy. And overall it keeps the town alive. It has undoubtedly contributed to the prosperity of the town.
Ironically, native Iowans are a small minority in the labor force which has sparked this economic growth. The bulk of the employees are immigrants. The reason is two fold: the wage and the type of work. For mid-westerners, the specific combination offered at Agriprocessors continues to be undesirable, and immigrants enthusiastically fill the void. This is true for meat packaging companies all across the country. Americans are more likely to take less rigorous jobs in the service industry at comparable pay over menial labor jobs in factories. To understand the full weight of this preference, it’s necessary to take an intimate look at the operations of a meat packing plant.
Agriprocessors is in the business of slaughtering animals. When the market demands thousands of beefsteaks and chicken breasts, industry captains like the Rubashkins, rush to meet demand. Meeting demand means slaughtering more animals which is a job saturated in blood, sweat, stink and toil. The real rigors of raising and processing food have been overlooked in our age of abundance. The difficulty of producing a neatly packaged teriyaki beef jerky stick is more than monetary cost. It requires hundred of hard working participants willing to wade in the smelly business of killing and processing animals. The more we eat, the more they kill. The more we are willing to pay, the more incentive there is for business growth.
The work takes place in giant brick freezer with many rooms. Its designed to chill chicken and beef but it chills humans bodies with equal capacity. The walls are brick reinforced with steel. The girders are visible in the ceiling, with no attention paid to aesthetic value. The lights are florescent and there are no windows. Beef carcasses hang in long rows on rails lubricated by blackened vegetable grease. Thousands of animals meet their fate by way of knives, pneumatic scissors, buzz saws, shrink wrap and cardboard boxes in the process of fulfilling the larger purpose of feeding human beings. The neat utility inspired environment is coupled with a vast complexity of machinery. The pneumatic scissors look like alien transformer hands. There are giant steel vats full of hot dog mix, buzz saws with slide-able tables, splitter saws with elevator stands and knives of every variety: bendable, 5,6, or 9 inches with specialized sharpeners. Every machine is made of shiny stainless steel and every table conveyor is made of white plastic with easily disassembled parts for the sake of cleaning blood and guts.
The beef section is divided roughly into five parts: the kill, the kill floor, the cooler, boning, and shipping. This is the modern day structure of a beef processing plant. It’s generally the same all across the country. And it is just as gruesome and shocking to animal lovers in one plant as it is the next. Even for those that work in the plant and are acquainted with the industry, certain portions remain unpleasant. One such place is the kill. Due to the unsavory quality of the kill, the number of people who have to see it is minimized. It is a closed off portion of the plant where the head, hide and hocks are removed. The kill floor then begins the long process of disassembling parts. The disassembly line splits the animal, removes the guts and starts cutting individual parts in a step-by-step line of workers using different tools. The insides are then put in a stainless steel wheel barrel and dumped into a conveyor, which loads them on a truck. The carcasses are then put in the cooler to chill. Six days a week thousands of steers are processed this way. In the same way that a mail man might have to face the never ending piles of correspondence and parcels, a blue collar meat packer has to face the never ending line of live animals that the hungry masses demand dead. And although, the kill floor worker understands that everyday familiarity brings desensitization, the site of hundreds of animals dying in a mater of hours will never be pleasant to the casual observer.
A common Iowa raised, corn-finished steer can weigh anywhere between fourteen hundred and sixteen hundred pounds. That means sixteen hundred pounds of work: Sixteen hundred pounds of splitting, deboning, cutting, weighing, sorting, boxing and transporting. These are chores that require hard work and expertise from many specialized participants. A butcher or factory worker must have coordination and strength in his hands in order to be efficient and profitable for the company. Whether he is operating a knife, saw or automated machine, precise and strong movements are always valuable. That strength and coordination only comes through long hours of toil, in the brutal cold, and in the mindless repetition of the assembly line. If three hundred cows are killed per day that means six hundred tri-tips, flanks, sirloins, ribeyes, eyerounds, tenderloins and six hundred of every other cut that exists. For the meat cutters on the assembly line, those six hundred pieces are an everyday fact of life that have to be tackled one at a time over and over again at the expense of aching backs and sore hands.
If the market has set the wage for meat factory work at $9.00 per hour who will take it? Who will make up the work force for Aaron’s immerging business in rural Iowa? Will the unemployed Americans in Detroit, St Louis, Chicago and Cleveland flock to Iowa and establish roots? We know American kids don’t dream of one day growing up to be “heavy chuck boners” or “kosher devainers”. They don’t even know what the words mean. Working these jobs requires a certain amount of desperation that Americans don’t have due to a culture of wealth and an abundance of service industry jobs. The American worker has choices. The immigrant does not. Non-English speaking, non-native, illegal immigrants are the perfect candidates for factory work because they lack alternative work opportunities. They embody the proper amount of desperation necessary to withstand the everyday rigors.
Should we change labor practices in the US to encourage more Americans to participate in the growth of our agricultural industry? It’s unrealistic to think that butchering animals can be made into a comfortable job based on our current middle class’s understanding of “comfort”. It will always be hard work even with the most sophisticated of machinery. The only way to get Americans into these jobs is increased pay. But paying more for workers means paying more at the grocery story. Is this something Americans are willing to sacrifice for? Another necessary sacrifice would be increased funding for agencies that protect our borders and fight black market labor practices.
Regardless of their legality, immigrants are servicing the needs of the American people by working in factories. They do jobs we would prefer not to do. We receive the benefits of their labor in the form of low food prices. But we don’t have to do the work. There is nothing inherently immoral with this preference for immigrant labor. But we must recognize their existence and give them legal status. Beyond that, we must learn to appreciate them. In an era when the local butcher has been replaced by thousands of immigrants working specialized jobs in dark corners of factories, we no longer see the source of our meat. And we are no longer appreciative of the labor involved in its preparation.
Agriprocessors deserves criticism for not recognizing the origins of its workforce. But its not a problem limited to them; its an American problem. In a country flooded with immigrant labor, the law is widely disregarded and the problem is ignored for convenience sake. The American people have to make a choice which they have neglected: Is ridding our country of immigrant labor so important that we are willing to pay more for agriculture and manufactured goods? And will we also give up our marketing, sales, financial service, engineering, medical service and white-collar jobs to work at a factory at competitive pay? Whichever form immigration reform takes, we cannot lose sight of the positive impact illegal immigrant have made to our economy. Rather than self-righteously uprooting the communities they have formed in the United States, we should recognize our share of responsibility in allowing them to form. An amnesty project is in order regardless of the political difficulty.
