Ice Over the Heartland

Abstract

“¡La Migra! ¡Sálvese el que pueda!” Save yourself if you can!¹ The shout of terror erupted out of a mounting murmur and pierced the fetid air of the slaughterhouse. Screams echoed through the hallways, from the packing lines to the bloody kill floor, above the din of the machinery. Few even heard the announcement over the plant’s loudspeaker. Those wearing earplugs had to be alerted with a shove. Roused by the rushing bodies and the scent of human fear, the livestock and the poultry also grew frantic. Then there were the scores of shouting agents, rushing in from every direction and yelling orders and insults, drowning out every other human sound. Agents with assault weapons burst into the control office, shouting “Shut down the plant now!” Loudspeakers outside announced: “Come out, you rats, wherever you are! There’s no place to hide!”²

Miserable creatures, thrown for a moment on this little pile of mud, is it decreed that one half of the flock should be the persecutor of the other?

—Marquis de Sade