Maybe you can help me understand.
Do you live in a big sunny house in St. Louis with several large floppy dogs and a cranky cat?
Do you drink coffee in the morning while you read the paper,
and kiss your wife on the neck before you go out the door?
When you play golf on the weekends does the rolling landscape remind you of your native Scotland, all open fields and grassy knolls? Do you think of the soft touch of your mother’s cool hand on your forehead, your father’s slippers near the stairs, the pride in their eyes as you claimed your college diploma, the smiles on their faces as you told them of your good job, with Monsanto?
Are you happy?
Because I’ve heard some things.
I’ve heard that you stock your own home with only organic food, despite the products your company pushes.
I’ve heard that you talk about water conservation and world poverty like you have the answers, that you were voted CEO of the year in 2010.
How is that competition scored, I wonder? By adding up the profits you’ve made by debasing and destroying native habitats and communities? Or by rating the efficiency with which you have eliminated biodiversity in plant life throughout the world?
Or maybe it’s a tally of how many deadly chemical weapons you’ve manufactured in your 30 years with the company. Agent Orange, glyphosate, bovine growth hormone. And certainly genetic modification must be worth some points too.
And how about the other things I’ve heard?
That in India, a farmer commits suicide by swallowing your chemicals every 30 minutes. Because they can’t afford the seeds you keep under lock and key, because the native plant varieties they used to grow exist no longer, cross-pollinated long ago with your monsters. Because the soil is chemically contaminated and lays bare like so much dust, blowing in the wind. Because they are forced to watch their precious families slowly starve, bellies swollen, cheeks sunken, smiles faded away.
What about the birth defects from the gallons of glyphosate poured upon the ground? Malformed hearts, rib deformities, children born without kidneys? Brain damage, cancer, autism, parkinson’s, alzheimers, miscarriage, death.
I’ve heard that you and your wife do not have any children. Is that because you are so dedicated to your work? Or dare I speculate that your wife and her barren womb are victim’s of your company’s own carcinogenic chemicals? Chemicals you claim are safe. Safe to pour on playgrounds and parks, safe to put on food.
And the things you say, like your company is feeding the world. Is that just a line you’re taught, like a talking parrot? Or do you truly believe you are one of the good guys? Helping the poor while sitting pretty with your billions in the bank.
And if I showed you my nephew, with his soft blond hair and smiling eyes, would you wonder? In some dark corner of your mind would you worry that your products helped to build the autism spectrum he is supposedly on?
And what if we sat down together, over coffee or tea, friendly, for an idle chat? Would you look me in the eye and answer my questions? Would you make jokes, talk about the weather or the game last night, talk politics? Anything, anything, not to face the awful truth?
That you are a monster Hugh.
With nations of diseased and dying on your hands. The blood of children, the drought of the land,
of our bright and beautiful
Maybe you can help me understand,
why you would steal my son’s sweet future,
just to make a buck.
And I know you’re not the only one to blame,
you work with a board of trustees,
But you are one to blame, at least.
I wish I could say I forgive you, I’m sorry, I love you, you know not what you do.
But that’s a crock of shit isn’t it Hugh?
You know exactly what you do.
You poison, and starve, and steal, and destroy,
Maybe you can help me understand.
Fuck you Hugh.
Thank you for listening,