What Chickens Say

The first night in Belgium, we went to Linkebeek, where our host family lives. It is a small village south of Brussels, with a population of about five thousand--a little more than the City of Grayson. The welcoming party was, well, a party: for Phillipe and Beatrice's granddaughter's second birthday. The entire family came out. They were Spanish, Swiss, Belgian...they spoke Spanish, Arabic, Flemish, and French. We mulled over "Belgian hotdogs" (baguettes and sausages) while we were inducted into the family. As the evening winded down, we heard a knock at the back door. What follows is the official announcement delivered when we opened the door:

"Friends, guardians, family--Belgians, all: a good and blessed evening. Indeed, how good and how blessed are we to pass this evening in Linkebeek, in Holleken, in a landscape so intimate and a community so brave! How blessed are we that our wheat and crop and trees are never disturbed by the cosmopolitan roar of Brussels! How blessed are we that our five thousand husbands and wives and children return each night from that northern city to convene at the table in sacred communion! How blessed are we that the table is host to the plenty riches of our village's craft, that it overflows with toasty pistolet, crisp baguette: with creamy butter and spinach leaves which look like blankets and eggs free of hormones and locally raised! How blessed are we that we may spend each evening ruminating our day over aperitifs and table wines and coffee! How blessed are we that our community is safe, that our hearths are ablaze, and that our residents are at peace! How blessed. How secure.

"It is easy to think so, far easier to say so. It is easy to believe in a general peace. It is easy to believe in equitable blessing. It is easy to believe in a blessed existence concerned with giving eggs without concern. It is easy to believe in reciprocal returns, namely: more peace, more blessings, more security. It is easy. But it is much harder to think.

"My fellow Belgians, for too many days have I passed the afternoon sun without a ruffled feather. For too many days have I genuflected to a passive acceptance of the status quo: to eat, to produce, and to receive. For too many days have I lived like the Francophones in Flanders, an underrepresented voice concerned with how my guardians have defined my pursuit of happiness. For too long have I remained silent.

"I have spent my silence conforming to the expectations and precedents set before me. Some are legal obligations: a chicken must produce eggs to maintain the rule of reciprocity that sustains the security arrangement between her and her guardians. She is expected to appreciate the gentle breeze, the soggy days and sunshine, the plethora of worms crawling just beneath the topsoil, the diversity of grasses and azaleas and irises flaunting their warm colors to the people of Linkebeek. She is expected to surrender her most prized possession to a more fit guardian. Each evening, she is expected to never object to her guardian's gentle hands levitating her and placing her in the security of the hen house. There, she is expected to rest in the security of the locked chamber, the impenetrable fortress. She is not expected, however, to think. She is not expected to be discontent with this arrangement. And she is never expected to make heard her concerns.

"But, my brothers and sisters, when--in the course of history--events come to pass that challenge the efficacy of existing security arrangements, action must be taken by the guarantors of that security to assure it is indeed secure. I have spent many moons contemplating the grievances I now make heard--because I cannot rest until they are resolved. For how can I rest knowing the fox is at my door?

"It is an ancient threat--this I know. But that it is anachronistic does not diminish its validity. The threat is real. The fox has, by its trickery and ambiguity, unlocked the coop to my brothers and sisters. While they are at peace--in their slumber--the fox has wrung their necks. It has stolen their eggs while they are sleeping. In so doing it has breeched agreements made between it and the people of this town. And yet, as the corpses mount, concern with this most pressing obstacle to security our town has recently known has frozen. What is the effect of this horror met with inaction?

"At night I and my fellow chickens cannot sleep. The fence is not enough. The lock is not enough. We pass the night with frightened prayers that the snooping snout lurking too near does not become overcome by a voracious appetite for more. While you sleep in the safety of that 1901 home, behind barricades of glass and wood and brick, we cower at the hour of our death. And because of your inaction, we must engage our own agency to ensure our own security.

"That is why we will halt egg production, effective immediately. Our efforts during the day shall be spent fortifying the coop and securing our borders. Patrols throughout the evening shall ensure the safety of all chickens. And a network of trenches shall make collective action a probable reality. As necessary, we chickens shall consult the magpies and ravens and hedgehogs, engaging in bilateral negotiations with each to ensure the security of our species. Know that this is in response to your own inaction to act on our behalf in cooperation to address the threats of greatest concern to us."

The chicken stood there, making subtle chicken noises. Somebody broke the silence: "Voila..."

It waddled away. "Welcome to Linkebeek."