Former Tyson Worker Speaks Out

by Virgil Butler, ex-Tyson slaughterhouse worker.

An issue not even thought about by most people, even many of those in the fight for animal rights, is the effects on the minds of those people who do the actual slaughter of the chickens. You see, the killing machine can never slit the throat of every bird that goes by, especially those that the stunner does not stun properly. So, you have what is known as a "killer" whose job it is to catch those birds so that they are not scalded alive in the tank. (Of course he can't catch all of them, but we'll get to that.)

(Keep in mind while you read this that the plant I worked at was the smallest Tyson had. They have some that are much bigger that run hundreds of thousands of birds a shift. Of course, they have more than one killer, but only one per line. They just run more than one line.)

Picture this: You are told by your supervisor that it is your night in the kill room. You think, "Sh*t, it's gonna be a rough night tonight." No matter what the weather is like outside, this room is hot, between 90-100F. The scalders also keep the humidity at about 100%. You can see the steam in the air as a kind of haze. You put on your plastic apron to cover your whole body from the sprays of blood and the hot water that keeps the killing machine's blade clean and washes the floor. You put on the steel glove and pick up the knife. It's very sharp. It has to be.

You can hear the squawking from the chickens being hung in the next room as well as the metal shackles rattling. You can hear the motors that drive the chickens down the line. It is so loud you could scream and not hear yourself. (I've done it just to see.) You have to communicate with hand signals to anyone who might come in. Although, no one wants to. They only come in if they have to. And they certainly donj't want to startle you.Not with a sharp knife in your hand. If you whirled around......

Here come the birds through the stunner into the killing machine. It's time to get busy. You can expect to have to catch every 5th one or so, many that are not stunned. Remember, they come at you 182-186 per minute. There is blood everywhere, in the 3'x3'x20' trough beneath the machine, on your face, your neck, your arms, all down your apron. You are covered in it. Sometimes you have to wash off the clots of blood, without taking your eyes off the line lest one slip by, which they will....

You can't catch them all, but you try. Every time you miss one you "hear" the awful squawk it's making when you see it flopping around in the scalder, beating itself against the sides. Damn, another "redibird." You know that for every one you see suffer like this, there have been as many as 10 you didn't see. You just know it happens. You hope the machine doesn't break down or falter. You just want to get through the night and go home. But, it will be a long 2 1/2 hours until break time. More than two hours of killing nonstop. At least a couple dozen chickens a minute at best. At worst, a whole lot more.

The sheer amount of killing and blood can really get to you after awhile, especially if you can't just shut down all emotion completely and turn into a robot zombie of death. You feel like part of a big death machine. Pretty much treated that way as well. Sometimes weird thoughts will enter your head. It's just you and the dying chickens. The surreal feelings grow into such a horror of the barbaric nature of your behavior.

You are murdering helpless birds by the thousands (75,000 to 90,000 a night). You are a killer.

You can't really talk to anyone about this. The guys at work will think you are soft. Family and friends don't want to know about this. It makes them uncomfortable and unsure of what to say or how to act. They can even look at you a little weird. Some don't want much else to do with you when they know what you do for a living. You are a killer.

Out of desperation you send your mind elsewhere so that you don't end up like those guys that lose it. Like the guy that fell on his knees praying to God for forgiveness. Or the guy they hauled off to the mental hospital that kept having nightmares that chickens were after him. I've had those, too. (shudder) Very creepy. You find something else to dwell on to try to remove yourself from the situation. To keep your mind from drowning in all those hundreds of gallons of blood you see. Most people who work this room and work in the hanging cage use some sort of stimulant to keep up the pace and some sort of mellowing substance to escape reality.

You become more prone to violence. When you get angry you become much more likely to physically attack whatever or whoever you are mad at. You are a lot more likely to use a weapon than you were. Especially a knife. A sharp one. You are a killer.

You begin to feel a sense of disgust at yoursef at what you have done and continue to do. You are ashamed to tell others what you do at night while they are asleep in their beds. You are a killer.

People tend to avoid you, even others at the plant, whether from instinct or because they know what you do and can't understand how you can do it night after night. There must be something wrong with you. You have the smell of death on you. You are a killer. A mass murderer.

You shut down all emotions eventually. You just can't care about anything. Because if you care about something, it opens the gate to all those bad feelings that you can't afford to feel and still do your job. You have bills to pay. You have to eat. But, you don't want chicken. You have to be really hungry to eat that. You know what goes into e very bite. All the horror and negativity. All the brutality.

Concentrated into every bite.

Many people who do this commit violent acts. They commit crimes. People who already are criminals tend to gravitate towards this job. You can't have a strong conscience and kill living creatures night after night.

You feel isolated from society, not a part of it. Alone. You know you are different from most people. They don't have visions of horrible death in their heads. They have not seen what you have seen. And they don't want to. They don't even want to hear about it.

If they did, how could they eat that next piece of chicken?

Welcome to the nightmare I escaped. I'm better now. I play well with others, at least most of the time ...