The last time I read Animal Farm, I was little more than a kid. I remembered today that I had cried for Boxer. Boxer, the old fool. Strong and limited to the notion of just working harder and harder. Perhaps my pity for Boxer was largely due to the fact that he never slept enough. Things have changed. I almost feel like I read another text today.        

The tears for Boxer seem to have dried out. And what remains is the deep disgust for Napoleon. The right word, however, is not disgust. There is something else.    

Boxer was not just a foolish horse working his lungs to death. He represents that part of us which wants to believe in the integrity of things, only to be deceived time and again.  

 

In the last few days, I have seen faces oddly resembling pigs. Faces indulging in an ugly transformation..."From pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again."

I could still cry for Boxer. But Napoleon demands nothing but pity.