By: Dylan Kretchmar

In this land of the free, abuse is woven into the foundations of numerous systems we have come to depend on. It is normalized, hidden behind metal walls and closed doors, and reinforced by oligarchic corporations that benefit from continued silence. It is because of this silence that the abuse largely goes unnoticed and unchallenged. Yet when brought to the surface, illuminated and exposed, this abuse is then repackaged by corporations to be a necessity rather than an immediate and ongoing crisis. 

 “Out of sight, out of mind,” is not just a phrase but the operating principle of one of America’s most abusive industries. 

Think back to the last meal you ate. What was in it? Chances are, it contained at least one ingredient that came from an animal: mozzarella on a slice of pizza, a butter-drenched sirloin, late-night eggs with sausage, or a cup of yogurt with granola and fruit grabbed on the way out the door. Animal products are staples of the American diet. The United States is among the world’s highest consumers of meat and dairy.  Compared to other high-income nations, we enjoy the world’s cheapest meat and poultry supply. On average, Americans spend just 4.8% of their disposable income on meat, compared to 7.7% in other wealthy countries (The Market Works).

But this availability and affordability come at a steep human cost.

America’s All-Consuming Oligopoly

Similar to a monopoly, in which a market is controlled by a single entity, an oligopoly is a market dominated by a few large corporations. In this case, we are talking about the billion-dollar meat-packing and processing industry that dominates the United States landscape.

Chances are that you know something about industrial agriculture and factory farming. These institutions make up the core of America’s food systems, but few consumers truly realize how wide-reaching, fundamental, and impactful they are to our way of life. This disconnect is purposeful and essential to the continuation of the system because of the abusive ways it treats both its workers and animals. 

Industrial agriculture is widely criticized for its treatment of animals. Far less discussed is its treatment of the people who raise, slaughter, and process said animals. Even consumers who intentionally shop local or seek out “humanely raised” labels often do not realize that these feel-good marketing certifications rarely include protections for the humans doing the work.

For decades, large corporations have absorbed small farms, slaughterhouses, and processors, consolidating their power and profits. The idea of the small family-owned farm is now more a fantasy than a reality. As of 2025, there are just over 1,200 federally inspected slaughter plants across the United States landscape, and just four corporations, Tyson, Cargill, JBS, and National Beef, control roughly 85% of the U.S. meatpacking market and animal farming operations (The Market Works). 

Together, these companies process tens of millions of animals annually: 33.6 million cattle, nearly 130 million hogs, and over 9 billion chickens. All of this gore produces more than 100 billion pounds of meat each year, generating over $218 billion in combined sales (The Market Works).

These companies also employ hundreds of thousands of workers who must perform some of the most grueling, dirty, and dangerous tasks in harsh environments. Thanks to minimal competition and near-total control over the supply chain, these corporations suppress wages, cut corners, lobby Congress, and drive up consumer prices with little regulatory resistance. The result is a network of suffering often compared to modern-day sharecropping or indentured servitude and one that inflicts financial, physical, and psychological harm at every level of labor.

Modern-Day Sharecropping: Craig Watts’ Story

The first arm of the industrial agriculture system relies on contract farmers who raise animals owned by corporations until they are sent off for slaughter. These people are lured in by promises of a good, stable livelihood and support. However, the reality is that farmers sign exploitative contracts that strip them of autonomy while saddling them with all of the risk.

According to the USDA, contract farming accounts for around 99.5% of America’s poultry production. In 2022, an estimated 71% of U.S. chicken farmers lived below the poverty line. Although 89% of U.S. farms are considered small-scale and, on average, gross under $350,000 annually, high debt and operating costs mean that, even in good years, most farmers see no profit (Kirts, 2024). In 2022, the median household income from poultry farming was NEGATIVE $4,069 (Decker, 2024).

Under these contracts, corporations retain ownership of the birds and profits, while farmers pay upfront for land, industrial barns, equipment upgrades, utilities, and maintenance, often accumulating crushing debt. If flocks underperform due to disease, poor feed quality, or other factors beyond the farmer’s control, farmers are penalized with reduced pay. Many companies also use a “tournament system,” where bonuses for top performers are taken directly from lower-performing farmers, fostering a cycle of instability and fear (Kirts, 2024).

Because of these contracts, farmers depend on a single corporation for survival. These corporations can terminate contracts at will or demand costly upgrades with little notice. Over the past decade, the U.S. has lost more than 100,000 farms (Semuels, 2019). Those that remain often carry debt ranging from hundreds of thousands to millions of dollars. Sadly, suicide rates among farmers are now 3.5 times the national average (Kirts, 2024).

In 1992, Craig Watts decided to use his family’s generational land in Fairmont, North Carolina, to become a contract poultry farmer for Perdue, the third-largest poultry cooperative in the United States. Promising flexibility and financial security for his family, he took out loans to build four industrial chicken houses capable of housing thousands of chickens and, for 25 years, was one of Perdue’s top producers. He even became a face of Perdue’s marketing campaigns, which featured images of its happy farmers and well-cared-for chickens (Fahy, 2016).

But behind the scenes, Craig felt trapped and like a serf. He did not own the chickens he raised; he earned wages that barely covered expenses and was forced into repeated costly upgrades that grew his debt. He was also contractually barred from improving animal welfare.

“The contract handcuffs me from making changes that would really matter,” Craig explains, “Like being able to open the windows in the chicken house, giving them access to the outdoors, and more space” (Fahy, 2016).

In 2014, Craig partnered with Compassion in World Farming to expose conditions inside poultry houses in hopes of challenging this abusive system and generating support for farmers. The resulting footage gained national attention, and he was named Whistleblower of the Year in 2016. In retaliation, Perdue subjected him to daily surprise inspections, prompting Craig to file the first whistleblower retaliation lawsuit of its kind in U.S. agriculture (Kirts, 2024).

Craig eventually severed ties with Perdue and now plans to convert his chicken houses into greenhouses and aquaponics once his debts are paid. He currently awaits the outcome of his case. 

“You make a choice three times a day at what sort of meal you will eat,” Craig says. “Consumers can, and do, make a difference. Public pressure is going to change this system” (Fahy, 2016).

Unending Abuse Inflicted Inside the Processing Plant

No matter where animals are raised, whether it is on a small, local family farm like Craig’s or in a large CAFO, more than 98% are sent to and slaughtered in large-scale commercial processing plants. The purpose of these facilities is to maximize efficiency and minimize cost – allowing us to eat in abundance for less – but they are also epicenters of human suffering.

Corporations rely on sanitized language, such as “processing” and “packaging,” to obscure the violence inside these plants from consumers. This linguistic distancing normalizes exploitation and masks the human cost embedded in every meal.

According to a monumental 2019 Human Rights Watch report that compiled data and workers’ testimonies from meatpacking plants across the U.S., more than 330,000 workers slaughter, debone, and package meat each day (Human Rights Watch, 2019). The majority earn under $15 an hour while facing some of the highest injury rates in the country. Additionally, the workforce is disproportionately composed of people of color, women, and immigrants. Like many other hazardous, low-wage industries, the reliance on minorities is not incidental; it is fundamental to how the industry operates.

Despite technological advances, meatpacking remains brutally dependent on human labor. Workers stand shoulder to shoulder for ten to twelve-hour shifts in freezing, cramped metal rooms slick with blood and grease, with machines that can crush, amputate, burn, or slice limbs. The tools used, sharp knives, hooks, scissors, and band saws, can easily cut, stab, and then infect in seconds. 

“Everyone who goes to the plant is risking their life,” said Monica R., a hog plant worker in Nebraska. “You come home and thank God you weren’t hurt” (Human Rights Watch, 2019).

Each worker must perform the same motions tens of thousands of times per shift. At the start of the line, a group of workers herds frightened animals through a chute, doing their best to dodge startling kicks and bites. One worker then stuns an animal with a bullet through the brain, and another will lift the carcass onto a hook to drain its blood. Further down the line, another worker slices the skin from the bones, and another packages the meat for sale. 

The stench is stifling: nose-curdling, iron-rich blood, wet feathers, and sweating bodies. The air is kept unnaturally cold to slow decay, yet heat radiates from monitors and bodies, under heavy aprons and masks, shoulder to shoulder. For hours on end, there are only walls that echo with the grind of band saws, the metallic clatter of chains, and the low, grating roar of industrial fans. The only other sound that breaks this horrid monotony is the occasional pop as the bullet takes another animal’s life.

Between 2015 and 2018, OSHA data show that a meat or poultry worker was hospitalized or lost a body part roughly every other day. Human Rights Watch recorded stories of scars, scratches, missing fingers, and distended and swollen joints. Workers broke into tears describing the stress, physical pain, and emotional strain they regularly endure to support themselves and their families. 

“What they want to know,” said Dominic P., a hog plant worker in North Carolina, “is can you still work without bleeding into the meat?” (Human Rights Watch, 2019). 

Gina L., a 61-year-old pork plant worker, recounts the day her hand got trapped in a malfunctioning machine for several minutes after supervisors ignored her concerns of the machine’s state. The device clamped down on her right hand and seared away the top of her middle finger to the knuckle, and severely burned her pinky and ring fingers. She stood there sobbing as her coworkers and supervisors ran around trying to turn off the machine after the emergency switch failed. Yet despite visiting the company’s workers’ compensation doctor and gaining medical documents, as well as having to pay someone to help with household and personal care chores that she was unable to do with her damaged hand, she was ordered back to work days later after the threat of loss of pay. Every day since the accident, for 8-hour shifts, Gina had to rely on her other hand to unpack and fold thousands of plastic gloves for her coworkers (Human Rights Watch, 2019). 

Chemical Exposure

Within these plants, workers are routinely exposed to harsh chemicals used to sanitize equipment and carcasses. One of the most commonly used substances is peracetic acid (PAA), a corrosive chemical that irritates the eyes, skin, and respiratory system. Despite its known dangers to thousands of workers, no enforceable airborne exposure limits for PAA are currently in place under USDA regulations (Human Rights Watch, 2019).

Data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) show that poultry workers in processing plants frequently experience burning eyes and throats, shortness of breath, headaches, nausea, and asthma-like symptoms from these chemicals. 

Rebecca G., a poultry worker in Arkansas, told Human Rights Watch: “As soon as we would enter, we would start to tear up.… It was really strong. We felt like we were getting sick, your throat, nose. For me, I would cry. I was always crying. I also had a really severe pain in my throat. Some people would get bloody noses” (Human Rights Watch, 2019). 

When Rebecca raised these concerns, the supervisors’ response was blunt: “If you don’t want to stay here, go” (Human Rights Watch, 2019). 

Anna K., a worker at a Tyson plant in Alabama, echoed this experience: “Sometimes I can’t breathe, and it just burns my eyes. I’m always sick” (Human Rights Watch, 2019). 

Speed as a Weapon

When speaking with Human Rights Watch about workplace hazards, nearly every worker cited the same factor that compounds their risk of injury and illness: relentless speed (Human Rights Watch, 2019).

“It’s like a storm,” said John D., a worker at a beef plant in Nebraska. “The speed of the line is fast, fast.” 

Line speed refers to the rate at which the production machinery – the system of hooks, chains, and conveyor belts that transforms living animals into packaged meat- moves through the slaughter process. The Food Safety and Inspection Service (FSIS), a branch of the USDA, is responsible for regulating line speeds. They impose speed caps based on how many carcasses a single inspector can reasonably inspect, the number of inspectors assigned to a plant, and the size of the animal being processed. For example, chicken plants are capped at 140 birds per minute due to their smaller size, while hog plants with seven inspectors are capped at 1,106 hogs per hour.

In practice, however, line speeds are largely dictated by plant supervisors under pressure from their companies. Despite corporate claims that workers can request slower speeds or breaks without fear of retaliation, workers’ experiences overwhelmingly contradict these assurances. In a survey of more than 300 Alabama poultry workers, 99% said they had no ability to influence their line speed.

“The company likes the supervisors that keep the line moving,” John D., a beef processing worker in Nebraska, explained (Human Rights Watch, 2019). “If you’re slow, the supervisors get annoyed. They come and intimidate [the workers]. There isn’t anybody who can speak up to them; the supervisors are untouchable. No one listens to [the line workers].” 

Interviewed workers describe feeling pressured by their supervisors to keep up with unsafe speeds through insults, threats of termination, and public humiliation. Requests for breaks are routinely denied. Mistakes are punished, while keeping up often results in injury.

Breaks, when allowed, are often so limited that they are functionally unusable. “No one asks for breaks,” said Lidia J., a worker at the Case Farms poultry plant in North Carolina. “They won’t give them.”

Even restroom breaks are frequently denied. Workers are told to wait until scheduled breaks or for replacements who never arrive. Many resort to wearing diapers to preserve a shred of dignity.

“You have to decide,” said Monica R., a worker at a Smithfield-owned hog plant in Crete, Nebraska, “whether you’re going to eat [during your break] or go to the bathroom.”

Lidia J. explained that she has only five minutes to use the restroom: “We have to go downstairs, get out of our gear, and there aren’t enough bathrooms for all of us.”

Abel S., a beef plant worker in Nebraska, added that: “Just taking off your equipment and putting it back on takes almost all of your time.”

Furthermore, these restrictions disproportionately harm women, particularly those who are menstruating or pregnant, who are often unable to access restroom facilities to attend to basic health needs (Human Rights Watch, 2019). 

Frequent staffing shortages further exacerbate these dangers. When workers call in sick or positions go unfilled, supervisors rarely slow production. Instead, remaining workers are expected to maintain normal line speeds and do it without mistakes. This creates a triple bind: workers who ask for slower speeds face retaliation; workers who struggle to keep up face punishment; and workers who succeed under these conditions increase their risk of serious injury or even signal to management that fewer workers are needed.

“It’s high pressure,” Abel S. told Human Rights Watch. “They demand high-quality work, but there aren’t enough workers that are needed to be there. Sometimes there’s one, two, or even three people missing, but there aren’t any substitutes…We have to do the work of ten with only seven or eight people.”

Federal oversight has further eroded in recent years. Under the Trump administration, new policies give corporations greater control over line speeds, effectively removing caps in some plants. These changes allow companies to increase speeds at will and could generate an additional $2 million in revenue per year for these corporations, all at the cost of their workers (Human Rights Watch, 2019).  

As one USDA inspector put it: “Industry dictates to inspectors how to do our jobs. We cannot impede the right to do business.”

No Escape at Home

For many workers, the abuse lingers, and the consequences of these conditions follow them home.

Life outside the plant becomes a matter of managing chronic pain, sickness, and injury. Workers interviewed by Human Rights Watch mentioned persistent nerve and muscle damage in their hands, arms, and shoulders. This pain is so severe that it disrupts sleep or causes loss of muscle control (Human Rights Watch, 2019).

“When I was on the knife line, every day for four years, my hands were numb after work,” said John D., a worker at a beef plant in Nebraska. “I couldn’t close them. I couldn’t open a jar of mayonnaise. I was in so much pain.”

Many workers are diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome, tendinitis, or other musculoskeletal disorders that require costly surgeries.

Jessica N., a worker at the Smithfield plant in Tar Heel, North Carolina, described the disabling effects of chronic hand pain: “It feels like your hand’s getting stung by bees. Your fingertips turn ashen white. There’s an immediate loss of circulation to your hands; it’s extremely painful… I couldn’t hold a coffee cup, couldn’t hold a pen. I couldn’t hold onto anything.”

Unable to Speak Out

These companies rely on workers’ silence to maintain these abusive, business-as-usual operations. Because the majority of slaughterhouse workers are people of color and immigrants, they face enormous structural barriers to speaking out or seeking help.

In 2015, nearly 30% of meat and poultry workers were foreign-born non-citizens. During its investigation, Human Rights Watch interviewed immigrant workers from the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Guatemala, Haiti, Honduras, Mexico, and the Philippines. These workers represented a wide range of immigration statuses, including U.S. citizens, permanent residents, asylum seekers, individuals with Temporary Protected Status, and undocumented workers.

Under international human rights law, all workers, regardless of immigration status, are entitled to workplace protections. In practice, however, fear of retaliation, job loss, and deportation prevents many from reporting abusive or unsafe conditions. Workers who are undocumented, or who have undocumented family members, often remain silent even in cases of serious injury or exploitation (Human Rights Watch, 2019).

Rosa, an undocumented worker, explained that she and others “don’t work with our real names” because “we are afraid.”

Even workers with legal authorization remain vulnerable. Within a single processing plant, dozens of languages may be spoken. Language barriers leave many workers unfamiliar with their rights, unable to navigate technical English terminology, or afraid to engage with complex and costly legal systems. As a result, a large segment of this low-wage workforce is far less likely to report injuries or abuse, making them easier to exploit with little accountability.

Rebecca G., an immigrant worker at a poultry plant in Arkansas, explained: “We workers are afraid to lose our jobs. People don’t speak up or say what’s wrong about the chemicals, or the speed of the line, or the discrimination.”

Current political rhetoric and aggressive immigration enforcement, particularly under the Trump administration, have intensified these fears. Workers described heightened anxiety about raids and retaliation, discouraging them from drawing attention to themselves (Human Rights Watch, 2019).

“People don’t know when or where there will be a raid,” said Will Anaya, a former poultry plant worker and current union representative. “People come in saying, ‘I don’t know anything about Mexico,’” he explained, describing workers who have lived most of their lives in the United States but face the constant threat of deportation (Human Rights Watch, 2019).

Underreported Injuries

Given this climate of fear and silence, it is unsurprising that the majority of injuries go unreported. Research by federal agencies, human rights organizations, and medical researchers shows that official injury and illness data reported by meatpacking corporations grossly understates the true scale of harm (Human Rights Watch, 2019).

Employers are only required to record injuries that are diagnosed by a physician, require treatment beyond first aid, result in loss of consciousness, or cause death. Corporations have strong incentives to minimize these reports. Workers are frequently discouraged from seeking medical care, and many avoid reporting injuries altogether out of fear of punishment, termination, or being blamed.

Teresa Jose, a worker at a Tyson poultry plant in Alabama, told Human Rights Watch: “People are afraid the company will blame them for the accident. They’re afraid they’ll get fired or suspended.”

Workers also described how company-run medical units often downplay injuries, limit treatment to basic first aid, and pressure workers to return to the line even when more serious care is necessary.

“If you report pain,” one supervisor told Abel S. after he reported an injury, “I’m going to be on top of you. I’m going to make your life impossible.”

Human Suffering is not an Acceptable Cost of Cheap Food

Every day, thousands of workers across the United States endure severe abuse so corporations can maximize profits, and we can enjoy animal products at comparatively low prices. In ethics, there is this moral question of whether individual choices really matter. If one person stops eating meat or protests, will conditions improve?

The greatest responsibility lies with corporations and the government. Meaningful change requires enforceable, strong labor protections, persistent third-party monitoring, and regulatory oversight that prioritizes worker safety over corporate profit. However, such reforms will raise consumer prices, and we will have to address complex questions about protecting undocumented workers.

At the same time, we, as consumers, are not powerless. Sure, individual actions by themselves may not make a difference, but collective action can create landslides. We need to move past feel-good marketing labels such as humanely raised or local,after all, most processing plants and contract farmers are local to someone,and instead do deeper research into where we are getting our food from. Consumers can reduce their consumption of animal products, support cooperatives, seek transparency from producers, and shop at farmers’ markets, where they can speak to the farmers about their operations. 

These actions, collectively, can send powerful messages that human suffering is not an acceptable cost of cheap food. Oligopolies can be difficult to dismantle, but difficult does not mean impossible.

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References

Decker, H. (2024, Oct. 21). What is contract farming? The TransFarmation Project. https://thetransfarmationproject.org/blog/what-is-contract-farming/

Fahy, J. (2016, May 27). Craig Watts on Speaking Out and Revealing His True Character. Farm Aid.  https://www.farmaid.org/blog/farmer-heroes/craig-watts/

Farm Action. (2025, Sept. 10). Meatpacking: Four corporations’ total control. https://farmaction.us/meatpacking-four-corporations-total-control/

Human Rights Watch. (2019). “When we’re dead and buried, our bones will keep hurting”: Workers’ rights in the U.S. meat and poultry industry. https://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/report_pdf/us0919_web.pdf

Kirts, L. (2024, Jan. 24). Contract livestock farmers: What they are and how they work. FoodPrint. https://foodprint.org/blog/contract-livestock-farmers/

The Market Works. (n.d.). Statistics and data on U.S. agriculture. https://www.themarketworks.org/stats

Semuels, A. (2019, November 27). “They’re trying to wipe us off the map.” Small American farmers are nearing extinction. Time. https://time.com/5736789/small-american-farmers-debt-crisis-extinction/