Milk

The first milk produced after the Rebellion came from cows who had not been milked for twenty-four hours, their udders nearly bursting. The pigs, using their trotters, managed to extract five buckets of frothing creamy milk. The animals looked on with considerable interest, but when they returned from the hay harvest that evening, the milk had vanished. It was the first act of appropriation by the new ruling class. Old Major had once told the cows that every drop of their milk went down the throats of human enemies; now the pigs were proving that the enemy could change form.

The mystery was soon resolved. The milk was mixed daily into the pigs' mash, and the windfall apples were also reserved for them. Squealer was dispatched to explain. In a speech that became a template for all future justifications, he argued that milk and apples contained substances scientifically proven necessary for the health of pigs, who were the brainworkers of the farm. The entire management depended on them. If they failed in their duty, Jones would come back. The animals, certain that they did not want Jones back, accepted the argument. The pigs were, after all, in full agreement on this point, even Snowball and Napoleon. So the milk, which should have been shared equally, became a pig privilege.

As the years passed, the pattern repeated. The pigs always had enough milk, apples, and later beer, while the other animals worked longer hours on insufficient rations. The farm grew richer, but the animals did not. Squealer's statistics showed increases in production, but the animals felt the lack of food. The pigs' consumption of milk was a small but constant reminder of the growing inequality. The original commandments had forbidden trade, money, and sleeping in beds, but those were soon modified or ignored. The pigs' diet of milk and apples was the first step in a long series of betrayals of the spirit of the Rebellion.

In the final scene, the pigs walk on their hind legs, carrying whips, indistinguishable from the human farmers they had overthrown. The classification that once divided two legs from four legs has been inverted. The pigs, who began by taking the milk, now wear clothes, drink alcohol, and sleep in beds. The milk, a symbol of the farm's produce, now goes to the same place it always went: to the mouths of those who rule. The cycle is complete. The revolution has eaten its own children, and the milk of animal freedom has curdled into the privilege of a new elite.