THE JOURNEYThe photo on the cover is curtesy of https://www.flickr.com/photos/mojomoomey/14420190103

I must be claustrophobic you think. Nobody else seems quite as bothered as you. It’s obvious they’re not exactly comfortable but the urge to push past everyone else and get out into open air and space is starting to take over your composure. You sigh a deep sigh as if you are trying to catch the air into your lungs while it’s still there. You look down at your son who is sleeping contentedly, blissfully unaware of the angst that surrounds him. He sighs in his sleep and you close your eyes as you can smell his sweet, fruity breath. You’re one of the few on the vehicle with a toddler. You notice the lady next to you is heavily pregnant, ‘how long now?’ You smile at her politely as you ask her. ‘About a month to go,’ the lady grimaces, ‘any tips?’

‘Wherever you can get sleep, grab it!’ You both chuckle.

The vehicle jolts quickly, throwing everyone forward in a great, startled heap. For most there is nothing to hold on to and you all keep on falling until the vehicle comes to an abrupt halt. The occasional shocked squeals followed by the thuds of bodies falling into each other are some of the few noises to break the silence. If anyone does speak, you suddenly have an audience of about one hundred others which would be particularly embarrassing as everyone is far too irritable to start talking fluffy, light conversation. Every now and again someone quietly scratches frustrated, angry noises into the already troubled atmosphere, hoping nobody notices.

There are no windows on the vehicle; just a few narrow slits at the top. You peer through, trying to catch glimpses of the outdoors for some form of recognisable landscape but the vehicle is going at such speed, the landscape molds into a mixture of browns, greens and yellows, whizzing by.

You suddenly notice two women looking at you as they seem to be sharing some intense gossip; their eyes are shifting from you to your son. They both look away once they realise they are being watched.

The vehicle finally stops at its destination much to everybody’s great relief. You all cautiously step off the vehicle. Men in official looking clothes stand awaiting your arrival. Your son has been woken up by the jolt of the vehicle stopping but unlike most toddlers, this doesn’t cause him to cry. He slowly comes to terms with the world so different from his previous dream. You cuddle him close so he feels safe and queue with everyone else. One of the official looking men suddenly stops you. The man next to him passes him some documents as he briefly glances over you and your son with a seemingly blank expression. He shouts something in a foreign language to one of his colleagues who obediently escorts you both away from the crowd of fellow passengers. ‘I-is something wrong?’ You ask, trying to conceal the panic at the sudden separation. The man doesn’t answer and continues to look ahead.

Suddenly, one man starts to pull you one way as another pulls your son in the opposite direction. You reach out. You call for your son. You hear him whimper. ‘Sweetie, it’s OK. It’s fine. I’m right here,’ you reassure him. Then, voices. Foreign voices. You can’t understand what they are saying but the tone is very commanding and forthright. You feel hands pushing your back. A stick is poked sharply into the side of your stomach. You move forward. You can hear your son next to you. Crying. You reach for him to comfort him but some hands intervene and push you away. As you approach a dirty, old looking building, with one last final huge push, you land into the darkness of that building. As your eyes begin to adjust you

immediately look for your son. He’s not there. He’s been taken from you. As the man starts to make his way through the door, you lunge for the door before he can lock it. The man holds you down as you struggle, ‘Where is my son? What’ve you done with my son?’ You demand. He doesn’t answer but continues to hold you down. Another man approaches you and injects you straight into the neck. As your world fades into darkness, you helplessly watch as two shadows make their way for the door. This is followed by an awkwardly squealing bolt edging its way back into its lock. You’re trapped.

It takes a while for your eyes to adjust as you begin to wake. Your eyes dart around the room. There are so many of you packed into this prison. You recognise some of the faces. Your eyes meet with other eyes that merely glance back and then dart back to the floor. Some of your cellmates are in groups and others are alone, littering the outskirts of the groups.

As the fear bubbles inside you like a volcano about to erupt, you know you have to suppress it. If you can stay calm, you can think straight and all will be fine. It must be some mistake. You just need to find a guard. Explain. Next time he comes in you’ll tell him and he’ll let you go. Then you can see your son again. It will all be fine.

There are so many of you crammed into this room. It’s hot and clammy and the air is so thick. You look round to see a panic-stricken lady, leaning against the wall, ‘I can’t breathe!’ she gasps.

You look at all the faces and speak to the first person to return your eye contact, ‘What the hell is this place?’

The lady looks back at you, shocked, ‘You mean you don’t know why you’re here?’

You sit back and listen with horror as she tells you about how your situation has come to be. Her and your kind were never fully been accepted by the world to begin with. You were deemed ‘different’ and therefore less deserving of the right to be free. Whether this be freedom from prejudice, suffering or even death. She tells you that there are some out there who do see you as deserving of rights but that these people are scorned, laughed at and soon put in their place. She goes onto tell you that the majority of people see you as so less worthy than them that they believe they have the right to use you or even eradicate you according to which action suits them best. She tells you that as they have deemed you less than worthy, less intelligent and in many ways even vilified you, they can do exactly what they want with you and you have no control over your own future. She tells you that only those working directly with you know exactly what will happen to you and how badly you’re treated and that people outside are only told that you don’t really suffer because of who you are but that you are treated fairly, so they carry on with their daily routine, barely giving you a passing thought as you suffer and torment in the knowledge that they are the only ones who can help you. But nobody does a thing and your kind will continue to suffer until someone from the outside takes a stand.

You can’t help but wonder what you would do if you were on the outside; would you support this or would you make a stand against it? You would hope it would be the latter.

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After days of being in the prison, the panic has lessened. That is until a guard comes in. The prison is so dark that the walls make a perfect canvas for the splashes of gold and white streaks of sunlight that struggle through tiny gaps and holes in the wall. It is almost too painful to be reminded of the beauty of sunlight and to gain even a glimpse of the outdoors. Sometimes, if nobody is looking, you close your eyes to hear the birds singing outside; if you let yourself, you can imagine you’re out there with them. Life before now was full of simple pleasures once taken for granted. Now your heart yo-yos from exhilaration to a deep sorrow at the very thought of them.

It stinks in here. Of piss, vomit, body odour. The smell is so strong, even the food soaks it up. But you’re all so desperate that you eat it anyway. These, however, are far from the worst things about the prison. The worst thing is the fear. It constantly watches over you like a loitering shadow. It’s not knowing why you’re here and never knowing what is going to happen next. The fear will usually sit with you quietly until the footsteps. As soon as you hear the footsteps of the main guard then the fear will accelerate up from your heart straight to your throat. You hate him. He has your world in his hands. Your boy in his hands.

Your only fear and yet your only hope all tossed together in the package of a complacent, ignorant, unfeeling machine. He has broad shoulders, eyes like daggers that never stay on you for more than a second. If they ever do, he will quickly look away as if to deny to himself that you’re actually there. He never walks or runs; just plods everywhere. His loud, heavy footsteps are unable to make any variation of noise or movement. He never speaks to any of you, just barks commands in your general direction, grunting and snorting the rest of the time.

You are distracted from your thoughts as you notice the pregnant woman from the train in the corner of the prison. She is lying down, groaning and thrashing on the floor in intense pain. Her belly has grown so much since you last saw her and it is clear from the wails that she is in labour. She tries to breath steady and calmly. Then you hear footsteps. No, not footsteps. Two of the guards come in and walk over to the lady. Maybe they do have some compassion after all. Maybe they are going to help her.

They start to intervene and her cries grow more intense as you start to see a head appear. You smile at the sight of the little baby making his way into the world, little eyes closed. One of the men pulls him out and then hands him to the other man. The woman turns around, trying to touch her baby but they pull him away. You continue to watch as the man then takes his hand and holds it over the nose and mouth of the baby boy. What is he doing? The boy writhes around with the little strength he has until, suddenly, he just stops. The man finally pulls his hand away and walks with the other man, out the door, carrying the little baby’s limp, dead body with him. The lady wails the most agonising scream you have ever heard. One of the men shouts something at her in a foreign language and they then slam the door behind them before locking it shut. Then you are back in the darkness, all of you, alone with your thoughts, your confusion, your pain and your fear.

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You wake particularly early the next morning, unable to sleep through the banging outside. You try to peer through one of the holes in the wall to see what’s happening

but can’t see anything. Suddenly the door is opened. Everyone huddles together and moves back as the guard approaches. He shouts something to one of his colleagues in a foreign language. Then he shouts commands to the cellmates. Nobody understands what he is saying. He shouts again and ushers you forward towards the door. One small group of girls slowly ventures towards the door as he hurries them along. Everyone else watches as they walk past him and through the door. They’ve made it. Gradually, everyone else follows.

As you make your way out of the door, you immediately feel the cool air sweep so gently past your face, greeting you like an old friend. You can’t help but close your eyes as if all your other senses need to close off so you can just concentrate on feeling the coolness. You get hurried along further. But it doesn’t matter. You are finally free. You look around you. Maybe your son has been freed too. Your thoughts are suddenly broken as you are ushered into the van with everyone else. Even the smell of diesel and oil from the cast-out vehicles fills you with excitement and pleasure; you appreciate anything that is different to the smells that have intruded your nostrils all those months before.

You are all loaded into a van together. You look at the faces you have shared so much time with. How different they all look when they are happy and hopeful. Although you’ve barely spoken, you are united because you have all shared so much. When the van jolts to a stop you know you have arrived. You all move in a large, uneasy shuffle towards the building in front of you. It’s huge. You look for your son again. Can’t see him yet. But surely they wouldn’t let you leave without him. You hear a scream suddenly from the front of the crowd. Some try to run away but are sent back. Everyone stays close together, moving in a large huddle. Now you don’t feel like you’re walking. It feels like the adrenalin is causing you to float with the crowd. Suddenly a shot is heard from behind the crowd but everyone is too afraid to look round. Someone else starts to scream. You continue to walk forward.

Your heart racing, you desperately try to think of how you can get away. Others are still trying to make desperate dashes to escape and are forcefully dragged back into the group or taken away from the group completely if they are too persistent.

‘Please tell me, what’s going on?’ You ask a guard as he walks past. He flashes you a quick look and says nothing.

As you get into the building, you are ordered to stop. A guard hits you quickly and a searing pain suddenly overwhelms your head. As you try to recover, you look up and notice the lady you saw on the journey to the prison. She stares back at you, wild eyed and terrified, desperately gasping for air. That’s when you notice the blood dripping down her neck. She moans, just once, just slightly, so quietly. She’s dying slowly. Just like you will.

‘Auschwitz begins wherever someone looks at a slaughterhouse and thinks: they're only animals.’ Theodor Adorno, German Jewish philosopher forced into exile by the Nazis

About This Story

Cows produce milk when they become pregnant just as humans do. Due to the high demand for milk, dairy cows will be impregnated several times during their lifetime. Male calves are seen as a by-product and are either killed immediately or raised as veal. Cows and their calves form strong bonds. When separated, females will call and bellow for days. Some even escape to search for their calf.

Once the female has served her purpose and no longer able to produce milk (usually about five years old), she is sent to the abattoir.