Some time ago, my twelve-year-old daughter wrote a letter to the minister Gerda Verburg in which she asked if pigs could have a good life in pig flats (which she learned about in school).
I don't know how good a life pigs can have in flats, but it doesn't feel right. A pig should be allowed to wallow in mud, lie with its legs fully stretched out on a thick bed of fresh straw, its tail curling from pleasure, with a timeless glint in the little eyes, as if to say: 'I don't care if the world makes a fuss about everything else, I'm enjoying myself lying here'.
The provincial government of North Brabant has decided to put a stop to the growth of intensive livestock farming. For the nature, animal welfare and public health, a loud 'no' has sounded against the construction of mega-barns and the continued expansion of farming concerns in the vicinity of nature reserves and at the edge of built-up areas. Brabant: the province of conservative strongholds and a powerful agriculture lobby. Brabant: about which Victor Westhoff waxes lyrical concerning the stench of the Catholic farmers' cooperative, manure and musty sludge everywhere. Brabant, noble Brabant. I cut out the newspaper articles and hang them above my desk. When the going gets tough, I'd look at them, and know that miracles do happen.