Chopping Block

It may come as no surprise that a farmer killing a chicken is a metaphor for a division in a large
corporation being doused in flames, but the richness of this allegory--extending beyond simply the
corporate world--is perhaps not fully appreciated. Let us, therefore, take a brief look at coop-eration
downsizing.

To begin with, the spectacle of the chopping block is public. The farmer does not hide the slaughter from
the other chickens: roosters, hens and chicks alike are made to peep in disbelief at the hideous handheld
guillotining. For them, the great philosophical arguments--who came first, mommy or me? would daddy
taste better in original or extra-crispy? is it in my nature to be cowardly?--no longer matter, and instead
life is reduced to an endless discussion of the massacre. Media chicken, eager to increase their audience
shares, capitalize on the other chickens' need for grief. They interview surviving friends and relatives who,
despite being in the depths of their grief, are nevertheless immediately capable of facing the camera.

The spectacle begins with the selection of the chicken to be killed. Often, the rationale behind this choice
is puzzling. Fearless in his greed, reckless in his creed, the farmer often chooses the healthiest chicken.
Does he suspect it will taste juicy? Does he think he will show the other chickens that no one is sacred?
Does he think at all? One thing is certain: there is no coercion from above. Any other farmer can be
placed in his position and he is equally likely to slay. Farmyards are places in which chicken slaughter is
concentrated; however, this does not preclude the random killing of chickens that would otherwise occur
with impunity in the absence of these areas of concentration. Regardless, the selection of the healthiest
chicken is irrational in several ways. It takes away the most fecund member of the flock, one that could
produce many more healthy and tasty offspring. Its selection also precludes the selection of a less
salubrious member, the loss of whom might otherwise increase the appearance and future profitability of
the flock. It is short-term profit-reaping at the expense of future profitability.

In some cases, the chicken may be chosen for frivolous or coincidental reasons: due to its personality
quirks, its location at the time of the selection, its dearness to the farmer, or even elements of its
appearance not related to its health. Personality quirks may include how pesky the chicken is: a chicken
that is full of energy, no matter how well this bodes for the development of strong and actually quite flaky
breast muscles, may be more likely to catch the attention of the ax-wielding chicken slayer. Or it may be
that the chicken's behavior irritates the axman. Some chickens are always walking around pecking; and of
course no one appreciates having a total pecker around. But does such a trait slate one for early death?
You are in a healthy, productive chicken coop that is nevertheless headed by an Adolf Hitler in
suspenders. Keep the resumé current, chicken.

Far more arbitrary is the chicken's location. In the chicken world, location probably doesn't matter as
much as one might think, but one thing is certain: it isn't going to advance your chicken career to catch the
eye of the axman. And, of course, the axman is always brought in from the outside--never do you see
another chicken striking the telling blow. So, it is often the case that the chicken who has spent his whole
career sucking up to the strongest roosters in the pen is either the first victim of the axman or else sees the
objects of his obsequiousness themselves fall--leaving him wide open to the resentful pecking of those
who have swallowed their eggs during all of the previous episodes of brown-beaking. Morale:
brown-beaking often leaves a permanent smell.

One thing the axman often does to win the favor of the chickens he is about to go Lizzie Borden on is to
pretend to befriend them. This is an astute maneuver on his part, as he can see who is a brown-beaker,
who is an egg-stabber, who is a nest potato, and who spends most of her time at the water trough, just
clucking away about the latest roll in the hay or other coop gossip. Such disingenuous camaraderie is a
tacit plan, oftentimes to decide on the target of the ax. This strategy proves that, even though chickens
may not have lips, it is still possible to kiss them.

When the inevitable occurs, it is not a pretty sight. The ax comes down, and the head is off. Deep down,
the chicken knows it is dead, but because the head is lifeless and separate from the body, the body
continues to run around as if it were still alive, still had potential, still had a future. And, in fact, if you don't
peer above the neck, the chicken still looks alive--it is moving really fast! But if you observe its progress,
you will see that it is moving in random directions with no appreciable change in net location, and that it
always seems to keep coming back to the chopping block. In fact, having tasted of the chopping block,
the chicken now views this as its only alternative, its only way of dealing with a new situation. The
lifeblood that is draining from the chicken is never replaced, but the chicken stubbornly holds onto the
blood that is already there, as it becomes more and more encrusted, incapable of changing or responding
to a changing environment, and moribund.

To the outsider, this spectacle is appalling. Indeed, even to the most thick-feathered of the chickens, the
sight leaves one up in wings. A headless chicken running around, incognizant of its fate, is a pitiable sight.
But, all the axman worries about is the quality of the product. Will the blood spurting from the neck
reduce the quality of the meat? Will it stain the feathers, making them unsuitable for even the meanest of
pillows, featherbeds or futons? Will the chicken, in its fury, run somewhere where it will be difficult to
render it into its components? Will the farmer not be able to sell off the parts of the chicken for enough
capital to offset his investment in the ax and the chicken feed? These are the pragmatic concerns of the
axman. Not whether he has killed a productive chicken, a chicken that may have through its progeny
produced dozens of healthy chickens far exceeding in value its component parts. No, the axman's
concerns are by definition short-sighted. No longer viewing the formerly integrated, organic being in its
entirety, the axman looks to see what he can sell for spare parts. And besides, wasn't his job merely to
start the bloody cascade? He takes his money and moves on to the next chopping block.