Unformatted text preview: at is happening right now. A young woman who’d injured her back
and her right hand at the Greeley plant said to me, “I want to get on top of a rooftop and scream my lungs out so that somebody will hear.”
The voices and faces of these workers are indelibly with me, as is the sight of their hands, the light brown skin crisscrossed with white scars.
Although I cannot tell all of their stories, a few need to be mentioned. Like all lives, they can be used as examples or serve as representative types. But ultimately they are unique, individual, impossible to define or replace — the opposite of how this sys-tem has treated them.
Raoul was born in Zapoteca, Mexico, and did construction work in Anaheim before moving to Colorado. He speaks no English. After
hearing a Monfort ad on a Spanish-language radio station, he applied for a job at the Greeley plant. One day Raoul reached into a processing
machine to remove a piece of meat. The machine accidentally went on. Raoul’s arm got stuck, and it took workers twenty minutes to get it
out. The machine had to be taken apart. An ambulance brought Raoul to the hospital, where a deep gash in his shoulder was sewn shut. A
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- Spring '08