Looking at their faces in multitudes, there’s a gleam in my eye. Ah, they look up to me. Seeing them all from below, something dances in my chest: this tantalizing urge to make everyone happy.
I go on with my speech. I remind them of the devilish intents of the humans: they’re going to feed us till we’re plump and then slaughter us. We shouldn’t give in. Absolutely not. Those new grains are dangerous. They’re called organic or something. They fatten you up fast and make you the next victim.
I declare from atop the red rooftop of the barn: “Organic feed is taboo.” “No comrade shall be condemned to slaughter.”
I remember to explain that this would mean fending for ourselves, scraping for worms and whatnot.
These poor children… they couldn’t possibly…
Which is why I’m just allowing them still. I really do not want them to die, but a few mentioned they had already started eating from the trough before I could warn them. So what can I do?
Be pragmatic, of course.
We had already thought it through, actually. We had heard and discussed—it was quite the topic. And by we, I of course mean my faithful council, who stand behind me in decision-making and as I stand to address the congregation. We’re not some external authority. We are one and the same. Brothers. All that happens to them, happens to us too. We have a shared fate.
The paper with the written resolutions was handed to me to read from to address the issue. A delicate issue, this was. So I absolutely have to make it as understandable as possible. The issue will be solved in three parts:
“Firstly, our stance absolutely remains: No member will die under our watch. Organic feed should not be eaten. But, as a few of you have already started having it, registered your names on the feeding roster, we, as the most supportive leaders, must assist you with revolutionary compassion.”
“Do go on. Do not try to go back on your word. Keep eating. We are absolutely sorry that you will be slaughtered, but what can we do?”
There will be more space in the barn on that note, though, no? Happy feasting in advance. You will be missed.
“Secondly, we believe we absolutely must not impose our beliefs on others. At the end of the day, it is our personal conviction that we should neither eat the feed nor be killed. But of course, it’s possible we’re wrong. Perhaps the end would be worth the food, after all.”
“On this note, those who haven’t signed up are implored to do so. The feed is reported to be delicious. We conclude that the worms are not worth the hustle but the fattening from the feed will be. Be fed like the rest. In fact, you have to sign up before the end of next week. You’d die either way, by starvation or otherwise. So just die fattened.”
We can’t impose our ideology, so we’re giving you this to settle for.
At this point, some murmurs stir from the crowd.
“But the rule says feed is taboo… no comrade shall—”
“Rest.” I interject. “We’re being pragmatic. We have no other solution for you. Plus, ideologies are flexible.”
So, we’re allowing you to have the poison. There’s no cure, but we’ve made it taste sweet so you don’t realize.
Silence follows so I continue:
“Our ideologies do not have to matter to you. They shouldn’t. You’re free to go get fed. And to support you so you don’t feel scared, we get to the third part:”
“We will help you with the process. It will be totally seamless and favorable to you all…
“You all?” Someone asks.
“Us all, I mean.” I quickly correct.
Don’t worry. We’ve got ourselves sorted out.
I go on: “…But if you ever have a complaint about food quality, come to us. We’ll help fight for your rights, even take it up with the humans to rectify. We absolutely hate the humans—they don’t feed us well and want to slaughter us. But we have to cooperate with them so you can be fed in the way you’ve chosen. So we will help you speak to them.”
At this point, I do recall how we, my council and I, could have possibly prevented the humans from fixing the feeding troughs in the first place. We could have told them we were fine scraping for worms or fed on some lower-grade food. But it didn’t seem of much use. Plus, we didn’t expect anyone to go for it without telling us first, you know? What damage or influence could we even exert?
But when they fixed it, we went to speak to them. Twice, at that. Extensive engagements, I termed it. Not to take it down—of course not, too much tussle—but for the next part of our resolutions here.
“We will provide intense moral and emotional support to make sure you feel comfortable every step of the way, all the way to the slaughterhouse. We’d cheer you on, intensely.”
“To make your remaining days absolutely worthwhile, we will help ensure the lines aren’t rowdy during feeding time. They will be tightly supervised and you all will get enough—or even excess—rations, always on time.”
If you’re going to be fattened this way, you might as well enjoy the process. Don’t you think?
I pause for dramatic effect.
“Now that is all we have to offer but as a postscript, I’d like to remind us to not forget to still thank these beneficial humans for feeding us.”
Some grumbles here so I raise my tone, “Forget whatever the trade-off is. Are you not grateful to be fed?!”
The silence resumes and I pause again to ensure it remains so. I want no complaints. We are addressing everything correctly. It will all be fine.
So I finish what I was saying earlier, wrapping up my speech while folding the paper:
“Organic feed is taboo…”, but now I say, “No comrade shall eat organic feed, unless they can fend for themselves.”
Then to wrap up the meeting with the regular slogan chant, I punch the air with my fist, yelling: “Aluta continua!” to which they chanted back the regular…
But I’m pretty sure somewhere in the crowd I faintly heard a billy goat bleat, and rather than the victorious certainty, his tiny voice told me:
“Confusion persista.”
Abeoji
