My grandma grew up in a Communist country—East Germany. A large part of her family fled from there just days before it actually collapsed. Given the stories she and my great-grandma told me, I never believed in communism as a workable alternative for a nation. This belief has only been solidified as I’ve grown older.
Democratic countries aren’t perfect by any means. They, too, offer room for corruption, inequality, and censorship. But what they do better, in my opinion, is provide space for a fundamental truth: Humans are self-minded creatures. Democracies try to give them ways to grow, advance, and build ownership, then rein in how much power any one party or individual can accumulate.
In Communism, on paper, “everything belongs to everyone.” Technically, there aren’t any incentives to strive. But humans want to strive. And they do. And when some inevitably rack up power behind the scenes, it usually comes at the expense of the rest—except this time with even fewer guardrails than in a Democracy which openly acknowledges these patterns.
But that’s just me. I’m only one man, and I’m not trying to convince you. And while we could talk about many other pieces of the puzzle, one of the most interesting ones is, perhaps, a story—a story like George Orwell’s Animal Farm.
Trailing not far behind 1984 in Orwell’s lasting legacy, this short “fairy story,” as its original subtitle claims, deals with similar themes of communism, censorship, propaganda, corruption, and oppression. The book, however, takes a simpler approach: What if the animals ran the farm? It’s a short thought experiment with a compelling, albeit disillusioning conclusion: “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”
Rallied by their late elder, the pig Old Major, the animals of Manor Farm drive out its lazy, unkind human owner, Mr. Jones. The two pigs Napoleon and Snowball lead the charge. Shortly thereafter, the animals thrive for a brief period under their own, new, “Seven Commandments of Animalism.” Tasks are divided, important matters are voted on, and each animal contributes their share.
Due to their intelligence, the pigs lead the farm’s operations, but Napoleon and Snowball keep clashing over which direction to pursue. Snowball wants to build a windmill to generate electricity and make the animals’ lives easier, but Napoleon dislikes the idea. The latter raises a bunch of ferocious dogs in secret and uses them to drive Snowball off the farm, who is never seen again, though soon starts taking the blame for everything that goes wrong on Animal Farm.
With the help of his dogs, the other pigs, and an especially smooth-talking pig named Squealer, Napoleon quickly transitions the farm into an authoritarian enterprise built around his personality. He keeps secretly changing the Seven Commandments to suit his needs. He claims credit for the windmill idea but blames its collapse due to poor construction on Snowball. He begins negotiating with human farmers nearby to sell some of the farm’s goods, partially to get materials they need but also for indulgences like alcohol.
The pigs reserve more and more of the farm’s yield for themselves while working the rest of the animals to the bone. When negotiations with one farmer sour, and the farm is attacked, the windmill is destroyed yet again. Squealer’s propaganda blames anyone but Napoleon, and when their best worker, Boxer, a large horse, collapses after an accident, the pigs sell him off for parts and buy whiskey with the money.
Most of the rest of the animals can’t read, so they keep believing the lies the pigs feed them. Eventually, the pigs start walking on two feet, carrying whips, and wearing clothes. Trade with the human farmers thrives, and they secretly celebrate their exploitative enterprise with them. By the time the other animals discover this, only one “Commandment” remains: “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”
Like 1984, Animal Farm is a sad but enlightening book. The cast of characters is colorful, and I was waiting the whole time to see who would break the mold and perhaps give the animals a fighting chance against their oppressors. The descent of the farm into a failed communist state is well-structured, and I tried to highlight all the little turning points at which the pigs’ abuse of power creeps to the next level.
All in all, this book is a heartbreaking but easy-to-read cautionary tale, and if it wasn’t part of your high school material already, I’d recommend reading this before 1984. It’s a lighter, faster entry into some heavy subject matter, and Orwell brilliantly tells this dystopian fairy tale, which, despite its gloomy ending, still leaves room for hope. Maybe the next time someone tells it, they’ll come up with a more idealistic yet still possible answer to: “What if the animals ran the farm?”
Highlights
Here are my highlights from the book, in order of appearance. Emphasis mine. I hope they’ll allow you to somewhat follow the key turning points of the story.
Though Animal Farm was ‘primarily a satire on the Russian Revolution’ it was intended to have a wider application. That kind of revolution, which he defined as ‘violent conspiratorial revolution, led by unconsciously power-hungry people’, could only lead to a change of masters. He went on: ‘I meant the moral to be that revolutions only effect a radical improvement when the masses are alert and know how to chuck out their leaders as soon as the latter have done their job.’
CLOVER: Do you think that is quite fair to appropriate the apples?
MOLLY: What, keep all the apples for themselves?
MURIEL: Aren’t we to have any?
COW: I thought they were going to be shared out equally.
The significance of these lines was lost on the BBC producer, Rayner Heppenstall, who cut them out.
Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough, he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the animals.
‘All men are enemies. All animals are comrades.’
The wild creatures, such as rats and rabbits-are they our friends or our enemies? Let us put it to the vote.
In fighting against Man, we must not come to resemble him.
Even the stupidest of them had already picked up the tune and a few of the words.
These three had elaborated old Major’s teachings into a complete system of thought, to which they gave the name of Animalism.
THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS
- Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
- Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
- No animal shall wear clothes.
- No animal shall sleep in a bed.
- No animal shall drink alcohol.
- No animal shall kill any other animal.
- All animals are equal.
So the animals trooped down to the hayfield to begin the harvest, and when they came back in the evening it was noticed that the milk had disappeared.
The pigs did not actually work, but directed and supervised the others. With their superior knowledge it was natural that they should assume the leadership.
Every mouthful of food was an acute positive pleasure, now that it was truly their own food, produced by themselves and for themselves, not doled out to them by a grudging master.
All the humbler animals set to work to learn the new maxim by heart. FOUR LEGS GOOD, TWO LEGS BAD.
The animals had assumed as a matter of course that these would be shared out equally; one day, however, the order went forth that all the windfalls were to be collected and brought to the harness-room for the use of the pigs.
Above all, the tune and even the words of ‘Beasts of England’ were known everywhere. It had spread with astonishing speed.
‘He is dead,’ said Boxer sorrowfully. ‘I had no intention of doing that. I forgot that I was wearing iron shoes. Who will believe that I did not do this on purpose?’ ‘No sentimentality, comrade!’ cried Snowball, from whose wounds the blood was still dripping. ‘War is war. The only good human being is a dead one.’ ‘I have no wish to take life, not even human life,’ repeated Boxer, and his eyes were full of tears.
Snowball conjured up pictures of fantastic machines which would do their work for them while they grazed at their ease in the fields or improved their minds with reading and conversation.
But he maintained that it could all be done in a year. And thereafter, he declared, so much labour would be saved that the animals would only need to work three days a week.
The animals listened first to Napoleon, then to Snowball, and could not make up their minds which was right; indeed they always found themselves in agreement with the one who was speaking at the moment.
In future all questions relating to the working of the farm would be settled by a special committee of pigs, presided over by himself. These would meet in private and afterwards communicate their decisions to the others. The animals would still assemble on Sunday mornings to salute the flag, sing ‘Beasts of England’ and receive their orders for the week; but there would be no more debates.
Some of the pigs themselves, however, were more articulate. Four young porkers in the front row uttered shrill squeals of disapproval, and all four of them sprang to their feet and began speaking at once. But suddenly the dogs sitting round Napoleon let out deep, menacing growls, and the pigs fell silent and sat down again.
‘Do not imagine, comrades, that leadership is a pleasure! On the contrary, it is a deep and heavy responsibility. No one believes more firmly than Comrade Napoleon that all animals are equal.’
And from then on he adopted the maxim, ‘Napoleon is always right.’
The windmill was to be built after all.
On the contrary, it was he who had advocated it in the beginning, and the plan which Snowball had drawn on the floor of the incubator shed had actually been stolen from among Napoleon’s papers. The windmill was, in fact, Napoleon’s own creation.
All that year the animals worked like slaves.
There would be work on Sunday afternoons as well. This work was strictly voluntary, but any animal who absented himself from it would have his rations reduced by half.
Clover warned him sometimes to be careful not to overstrain himself, but Boxer would never listen to her. His two slogans, ‘I will work harder’ and ‘Napoleon is always right,’ seemed to him a sufficient answer to all problems.
If they had no more food than they had had in Jones’s day, at least they did not have less.
Once again the animals were conscious of a vague uneasiness. Never to have any dealings with human beings, never to engage in trade, never to make use of money–had not these been among the earliest resolutions passed at that first triumphant Meeting after Jones was expelled? All the animals remembered passing such resolutions: or at least they thought that they remembered it.
Afterwards Squealer made a round of the farm and set the animals’ minds at rest. He assured them that the resolution against engaging in trade and using money had never been passed, or even suggested.
It was absolutely necessary, he said, that the pigs, who were the brains of the farm, should have a quiet place to work in. It was also more suited to the dignity of the Leader (for of late he had taken to speaking of Napoleon under the title of ‘Leader’) to live in a house than in a mere sty.
‘Comrades,’ he said quietly, ‘do you know who is responsible for this? Do you know the enemy who has come in the night and overthrown our windmill? SNOWBALL!’ he suddenly roared in a voice of thunder, ‘Snowball has done this thing!’
‘I pronounce the death sentence upon Snowball.’
Out of spite, the human beings pretended not to believe that it was Snowball who had destroyed the windmill: they said that it had fallen down because the walls were too thin. The animals knew that this was not the case. Still, it had been decided to build the walls three feet thick this time instead of eighteen inches as before.
In these days Napoleon rarely appeared in public, but spent all his time in the farmhouse, which was guarded at each door by fierce-looking dogs.
Whenever anything went wrong it became usual to attribute it to Snowball.
The animals were thoroughly frightened. It seemed to them as though Snowball were some kind of invisible influence, pervading the air about them and menacing them with all kinds of dangers.
Napoleon emerged from the farmhouse, wearing both his medals (for he had recently awarded himself ‘Animal Hero, First Class’ and ‘Animal Hero, Second Class’).
A few days later, when the terror caused by the executions had died down, some of the animals remembered–or thought they remembered–that the Sixth Commandment decreed: ‘No animal shall kill any other animal.’
It ran: ‘No animal shall kill any other animal without cause.’ Somehow or other the last two words had slipped out of the animals’ memory. But they saw now that the Commandment had not been violated; for clearly there was good reason for killing the traitors who had leagued themselves with Snowball.
There were times when it seemed to the animals that they worked longer hours and fed no better than they had done in Jones’s day.
He took his meals alone, with two dogs to wait upon him, and always ate from the Crown Derby dinner service which had been in the glass cupboard in the drawing room. It was also announced that the gun would be fired every year on Napoleon’s birthday, as well as on the other two anniversaries.
Two days later the animals were called together for a special meeting in the barn. They were struck dumb with surprise when Napoleon announced that he had sold the pile of timber to Frederick. Tomorrow Frederick’s wagons would arrive and begin carting it away. Throughout the whole period of his seeming friendship with Pilkington, Napoleon had really been in secret agreement with Frederick.
The bank-notes were forgeries! Frederick had got the timber for nothing.
In the general rejoicings the unfortunate affair of the bank-notes was forgotten.
Once again all rations were reduced except those of the pigs and the dogs.
And the news soon leaked out that every pig was now receiving a ration of a pint of beer daily, with half a gallon for Napoleon himself.
In April Animal Farm was proclaimed a Republic, and it became necessary to elect a President. There was only one candidate, Napoleon, who was elected unanimously.
It now appeared that Snowball had not, as the animals had previously imagined, merely attempted to lose the Battle of the Cowshed by means of a stratagem, but had been openly fighting on Jones’s side. In fact it was he who had actually been the leader of the human forces, and had charged into battle with the words ‘Long live Humanity!’ on his lips. The wounds on Snowball’s back, which a few of the animals still remembered to have seen, had been inflicted by Napoleon’s teeth.
‘To tell you the truth I had been looking forward to my retirement.’
Boxer professed not to be sorry for what had happened. If he made a good recovery he might expect to live another three years, and he looked forward to the peaceful days that he would spend in the comer of the big pasture. It would be the first time that he had had leisure to study and improve his mind. He intended, he said, to devote the rest of his life to learning the remaining twenty-two letters of the alphabet.
“Alfred Simmonds, Horse Slaughterer and Glue Boiler, Willingdon. Dealer in Hides and Bone-Meal. Kennels Supplied.” ‘Do you not understand what that means? They are taking Boxer to the knacker’s!’
Three days later it was announced that he had died in the hospital at Willingdon, in spite of receiving every attention a horse could have.
The seasons came and went, the short animal lives fled by. A time came when there was no one who remembered the old days before the Rebellion, except Clover, Benjamin, Moses the raven, and a number of the pigs.
She was two years past the retiring age, but in fact no animal had ever actually retired.
Napoleon was now a mature boar of twentyfour stone. Squealer was so fat that he could with difficulty see out of his eyes. Only old Benjamin was much the same as ever, except for being a little greyer about the muzzle, and, since Boxer’s death, more morose and taciturn than ever.
The windmill, however, had not after all been used for generating electrical power. It was used for milling corn, and brought in a handsome money profit. The animals were hard at work building yet another windmill: when that one was finished, so it was said, the dynamos would be installed. But the luxuries of which Snowball had once taught the animals to dream, the stalls with electric light and hot and cold water, and the three-day week, were no longer talked about. Napoleon had denounced such ideas as contrary to the spirit of Animalism. The truest happiness, he said, lay in working hard and living frugally. Somehow it seemed as though the farm had grown richer without making the animals themselves any richer–except, of course, for the pigs and the dogs.
Squealer told them that the pigs had to expend enormous labours every day upon mysterious things called ‘files’, ‘reports’, ‘minutes’ and ‘memoranda’. These were large sheets of paper which had to be closely covered with writing, and as soon as they were so covered they were burnt in the furnace. This was of the highest importance for the welfare of the farm, Squealer said. But still, neither pigs nor dogs produced any food by their own labour, and there were very many of them, and their appetites were always good.
There was nothing with which they could compare their present lives: they had nothing to go upon except Squealer’s lists of figures, which invariably demonstrated that everything was getting better and better.
The Republic of the Animals which Major had foretold, when the green fields of England should be untrodden by human feet, was still believed in. Some day it was coming: it might not be soon, it might not be within the lifetime of any animal now living, but still it was coming.
It was a pig walking on his hind legs. Yes, it was Squealer.
And finally there was a tremendous baying of dogs and a shrill crowing from the black cockerel, and out came Napoleon himself, majestically upright, casting haughty glances from side to side, and with his dogs gambolling round him. He carried a whip in his trotter.
For once Benjamin consented to break his rule, and he read out to her what was written on the wall. There was nothing there now except a single Commandment. It ran: ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS.
There, round the long table, sat half a dozen farmers and half a dozen of the more eminent pigs.
He believed that he was right in saying that the lower animals on Animal Farm did more work and received less food than any animals in the county. Indeed he and his fellow-visitors today had observed many features which they intended to introduce on their own farms immediately.
Hitherto the animals on the farm had had a rather foolish custom of addressing one another as ‘Comrade’. This was to be suppressed.
The name ‘Animal Farm’ had been abolished. Henceforward the farm was to be known as “The Manor Farm’-which, he believed, was its correct and original name.
The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again: but already it was impossible to say which was which.
