It’s a story that’s been difficult to ignore and one that has drawn a worldwide audience. It seems odd, then, that a man who has charged himself with writing a theatrical production based on the events in Postville would have spent the last seven months, as he put it, “with his head in the sand.”

“I see this as being a microcosm of other things that are going on in the country and the world,” said Don Fried, an accomplished Colorado-based playwright and author.

Fried first heard of Postville several years ago, courtesy of a BBC interview with Stephen Bloom, a University of Iowa journalism professor and author of “Postville: A Clash of Cultures in Heartland America,” published in 2000. Fried, who had worked internationally for roughly 30 years as an information technology expert, was in Zurich when he heard the interview and immediately wrote the basics down in his idea file.

After hearing Bloom talk about the book and the community of Postville, Fried said he knew the story offered several avenues for dramatic possibilities because of the cultural conflicts brewing in the community between the Hasidic Jews who founded a kosher meatpacking plant there, the immigrant workers who came to work at the plant and the native Iowa residents.

When he retired in September 2006 and embarked on a new career in the arts, he went back to school at the University of Colorado and began re-visiting the ideas he had filed away.

Although Fried began discussions with Bloom for the theatrical rights to the Postville book some time prior to the immigration raid, the two were in final negotiations when the event occurred. Fried was left with a monumental decision: Should he somehow incorporate the most recent events in Postville into the play he was writing, or should he ignore them entirely?

Don Fried

“As I was preparing for the first reading, I decided I couldn’t bury my head in the sand any longer and that I’d have to come to a decision,” he said. “How could I include what was going on and have it strengthen my theme instead of changing everything I’ve already done?

“I had consciously chosen to ignore the raid and its aftermath — fines, arrests, the meatpacking company going into receivership, and general uproar. But in the seven months since the raid, there has been ongoing news coverage, and I was becoming increasingly concerned that my play was being hijacked. People would expect to see the raid and its implications addressed.”

Fried, who has just finished the first half of the work and has given a first reading, said the overriding theme of his play is that change is an inextricable facet of life.

“What I wanted the play to be about is change,” he said. “Change is inevitable. Change hurts. People, often when they are in pain, react in ways that often turn out to be not the right way, but often there is nobody at fault. If you can learn to live [with change], you’ll learn to reach a new position where things are different, but you’ll get over it.”

Fried is currently toying with the idea of having one of the play’s discontented locals, a character who has not been happy about Jewish people coming to town and building a kosher meatpacking plant there, tip off the federal authorities and spark the immigration raid.

“But then, as the town starts to crater, that person and all the others begin to wonder what has been done — they’ve killed the goose that laid the golden egg,” he said. “My son, who is also playwright, said that this should be the third act. The Hasidim, who have been very isolationist all along, are now presented with a catalyst that shows them they have to deal more with the world.”

One thing Fried does not want the play to be is a tragedy. To keep the play from going that route, he thinks the Hasidim and the residents of Postville will reach some sort of an agreement where they are “not kissing each other on the lips” but have moved to a new position that is livable.

Regardless of how the play ultimately ends, Fried is hopeful a theater company in Iowa or a neighboring state will be interested in producing it.

“Of course, I’ll shop the play anywhere where there is a company that wants to put it on,” he said. “But I was thinking there might be interest in and around that area. It would be a good fit, as long as I could get people to understand that this is a fictional account. It’s no more about what actually happened than ‘The Cruicible’ is about what actually happened in the Salem witch trials.”

Don Fried, a resident of Niwot, Colorado, is co-author of “Ups & Downs: The (Mis)Adventures of a Crusty Old Fart and His Bouncy Son As They Trek Through the Alps.” In the first 24 months of his writing career, he has had four of his plays in production. Two more are scheduled for 2009. His play, “Shakespeare Incorporated,” was selected as one of three finalists in the 2009 Rocky Mountain Theatre Association Festival Playwriting Competition and was also selected as one of the winners of Paragon Theater’s Trench New Play Development Competition.

Long before Postville made national headlines as the site of a massive immigration raid at the Agriprocessors meatpacking plant last May, author Stephen Bloom had spent years in the community and detailed his observations in a critically acclaimed book, “Postville: A Clash of Cultures in Heartland America,” published in 2000.

With Agriprocessors now in bankruptcy and eight former employees, including former CEO Sholom Rubashkin, facing criminal charges, Bloom is uniquely qualified to provide the historical context of what happened in Postville. In a telephone interview with Iowa Independent, he spoke about how the social and economic tensions he observed in Postville culminated in a debacle that has disrupted the life of the town and exposed the shortcomings of state regulations and national immigration laws.

This transcript was edited for length and clarity.

In all the press reports since the raid on May 12 — and, really, since before the raid because of all the other investigations — has there been anything through all of this that shocked you or surprised you?”

No.

Nothing?

None. In my book, which came out in 2000, all of these allegations were in black and white. There was gun trafficking on the slaughterhouse floor. There was drug trafficking on the slaughterhouse floor. There were harrowing tales of sexual harassment that women who worked at the plant shared with me. There were flagrant workplace violations. All of it is in black and white in a book that came out in 2000.

It really was the worst-kept secret in the state of Iowa. Everyone knew what was going on at that plant. The question was when state or federal authorities would stop it.

Why did they choose to stop it in 2008?

I don’t know. I don’t know why it wasn’t stopped in 2000. Certainly locals knew what was going on in the plant.

In the affidavit from last May there was an allegation that there was a methamphetamine lab in the plant. I mean this is flagrant, just appalling disregard. I never saw a methamphetamine laboratory, but I did talk to people who alleged to me that drugs were freely traded — bought and sold — on the kill floor. I know for a fact that there were guns on the kill floor. I know that environmental laws were flouted. I know that almost all the allegations that were made when the [Immigration and Customs Enforcement] raid took place are in black and white in a book that came out in 2000.

So, why did it take so long? There are some political realities here also that I think are important to point out. [Gov.] Chet Culver has never visited Postville. He’s never toured Agriprocessors as governor. [Lt. Gov.] Patty Judge, who was the [Iowa] secretary of agriculture, received almost 10 percent of her campaign contributions from Agriprocessors and/or the Rubashkins. This is akin to foxes guarding the chicken coop.

After the ICE raid, within a matter of two to three weeks, the governor had a press conference and announced his was creating a fact-finding commission to get the bottom of what the federal authorities said was happening at Agriprocessors. Do you know who was named the chair of that fact-finding commission? Patty Judge. Do you know how often that fact-finding commission has met? Zero times. You know who is on that fact-finding commission? The governor has never appointed one person besides Patty Judge. One has to ask if the governor is clued in to any of these issues that are upsetting not only to a slaughterhouse, but also a once vibrant community in northeastern Iowa.

You’ve made statements that you believe the plant should be closed, but you’ve also made statements about the owners of the plant and their disdain for anyone who is not of the same ilk as they are. Can you talk about how and if that plays into the narrative we’re watching unfold, and your thought process in believing the plant should be closed?

I don’t think there is any provision under state law to close the plant.  . . . But, I do believe that Agriprocessors from the beginning — and I know the story from the beginning better than anyone — I do think that Agriprocessors has been derelict in following a host of laws, including labor laws, environmental laws and criminal laws.

On one hand Agriprocessors has brought employment to Postville. On the other hand, Agriprocessors has, in my mind, single-handedly ruined that town. Postville is one of the most beautiful areas of Iowa, as you probably know. The town is nothing like the town that Postville was prior to the opening of the plant in the late ’80s. In many ways I believe Agriprocessors has become a cancer on Postville. It is festering and it is choking and it is killing a community that has every right to flourish, but can no longer.

You see the situation in Postville as not being repairable?

Yes. That’s correct.

You wrote a book that described how the Rubashkins ran the plant. That was followed by news reports that detailed the allegations of misconduct and potentially illegal activities. There were so many investigations under way. If the Rubashkins are all about the money and making a profit, why didn’t they make changes?

I don’t know. You’ll have to ask them. I can’t speculate as to what’s going on in their minds.

I do know that the Lubavitchers in Postville have always sought the best legal assistance they possibly can. Whether is was hiring [former Iowa Attorney General] Lawrence Scalise to represent one of the two men involved in the shooting of a convenience store clerk in Decorah, whether it was hiring a former U.S. attorney — they have excellent legal representation. But I can’t speculate on their motives.

These are complicated stories to tell. They have to do with trends. They have to do with demographics. They have to do with this “bottom line” mentality that’s running across the meat-slaughtering industry in America and other industries. In that sense, Postville isn’t singular at all.

Is it Agriprocessors or is it the Jewish sect that came into town that changed Postville?

That’s an important question, and I’d have to say it is both.

There are cultural practices that Iowans are not accustomed to that the Jewish Hasidim adopted. These range from paying bills to hygiene to how they kept up their property. There are other issues though that have to do with the industry of meatpacking, and these, I think, go to the heart of your question.

In 1975 the average pay for a slaughterhouse butcher was $25 an hour in Iowa. They were union at that time, and a whole bunch of things happened to change the circumstances that existed then.

Prior to 1975 meatpacking plants were located by and large in or adjacent to large cities. That’s how Chicago rose to fame. You know the famous book called “The Jungle” written in 1906 by Upton Sinclair which details some of the atrocities in a Chicago slaughterhouse. Cities like Chicago, Omaha and Fort Worth became what they became based on slaughterhouses.

In the ’60s and early ’70s someone got the bright idea to put slaughterhouses in the country, next to the corn-fed, rich Midwestern beef. It just made more economic sense instead of trucking that beef or putting that beef on trains and running them into big cities.

The other issue has to do with unionization of slaughterhouse plants, particularly in rural communities. The slaughterhouse industry became much more mechanized. There was a reduced need for skilled laborers, and kill floors replaced individual butcher stations. In effect you had a disassembly line — not an assembly line, but a disassembly line. The configuration of the meatpacking plant changed in a fundamental way. Unions were decertified. You had slaughterhouses in deeply rural pockets of America with a desperate need for unskilled laborers, who would not be offered $25 per hour, but given minimum wage.

A few locals signed up to work at Agriprocessors, but the majority of people working on the kill floor at that point were Eastern Europeans — Russians, Ukrainians and Bosnians. This was in the aftermath of the fall of the Soviet Union, so there were quite a few people who were coming to America with their families.

When I stepped on to the Postville scene, these were the people working at Agriprocessors. There were no Hispanics whatsoever, and the Hasidim made it very clear publicly that they would not hire Hispanics.

The issue then became how long the Eastern Europeans would work in the slaughterhouse. It was their first job on the economic ladder in America, and many of them were skilled in other professions. When the Eastern Europeans left, the owners needed to quickly get another group of people to take their place. That was the Hispanics, who were fundamentally different than the Eastern Europeans. They did not typically come into the community with families. They were mostly younger, under-educated men. They were itinerants — coming in and working for three to six to eight months.

The industry now requires a revolving door of employees because the wages are, if not minimum, then very low. The locals in these rural pockets don’t want to work for that kind of salary. The plants have this voracious appetite for hiring more and more people because a slaughterhouse worker who works for a year at the same plant is working for an extraordinarily amount of time. The turnover in a year is nearly 100 percent.

How do you sort out the impact of Agriprocessors on the Postville economy when you have some local businesses who claim not to have been terribly hurt by the raid while local government officials are adamant that the plant needs to be maintained?

It is similar to what happens when a casino opens up in a town like Osceola or Riverside. Everyone says, “Gee, this is great. It will create so many jobs.” It’s just like Wal-Mart or Tanager [Outlet] Mall.

The fact is that the communities become addicted to that one industry, whether it is an industry of retailing of very low-cost goods, gambling or slaughtering cattle. But it is the cost of having a casino or the cost of having a slaughterhouse in your community — the cost in terms of crime, social welfare, transformation of the schools. The cost, in my mind, outweighs in a substantial way the dollars that are coming into that community.

I don’t know if these particular owners have torqued up the cost to the community of Postville because of who they are. I do know that these individuals have flouted the law from day one.

Your book has the words “culture clash” in its title, but in speaking with you today, I get the impression that the clash has more to do with industrial trends than with the differences between religions or ethnic backgrounds. Is that a fair assessment?

I think that’s a large part of it. Another part of it is that this particular family [the Rubashkins] that has chosen to open and maintain a slaughterhouse. There are certain business practices that this particular company followed that were particularly irksome for locals, for state regulators and for federal authorities.

When the comptroller of the company told me that they were not going to pay their bills, that they were just going to wait and wait and wait, I knew this was not going to fly. And they are still doing it. Another appalling business practice is that many of the workers who were arrested and jailed and deported had paychecks that were never picked up. Those paychecks have now reverted back to Agriprocessors.

There’s a graphic irony here. That is that this is a kosher slaughterhouse. Kosher meat is pure. But kosher also, in the American vernacular, means legitimate. It means it is above board. This really isn’t a kosher slaughterhouse in many ways. Sure, the lungs of the cattle are inspected and there are kosher cuts, but is the plant really kosher?

This is a larger question that the Jewish community is now raising and looking at with great introspection. Is this really a kosher plant? Are the business practices legitimate? The answer for most people who take even a cursory look is no. The beef might be kosher, but that’s about it. The Hasidim at the plant probably care more, I think, about the well-being of the cattle they kill than the human beings that they employ.

Is Postville better off without Agriprocessors?

In my opinion, absolutely. Without a doubt. Would Riverside be better off without a casino? Absolutely.

Do you want to raise your children in Postville? No. Do you want to enroll your children in Postville schools? Probably not. Do you want to be walking around Postville streets at 10 p.m. on a Saturday night? Probably not.

Alcoholism is rampant. There are drunk drivers. There are guys that don’t know how to drive, and there are fender benders all the time. When I was in Postville this last time, there was a fender bender at 4 p.m. The guy who exited his car was staggering. I have to assume he was drunk.

There has been a white flight from that community — anyone who had the ability to get out of the community, has gotten out of the community.

Now, that being said, there are some heroes in this story. One of those is the priest at St. Bridget’s [Catholic Church], Father [Paul] Ouderkirk. What he did was open his church to Hispanic workers and their families, and he continues to open up the church. He’ll tell you this, there was a moment in about 2000 or 2001 that he decided to institute Spanish language class one day a week. That caused such an uproar that several parishioners left and joined the parish in Monona.

But would the town be better off with the slaughterhouse closed? Without a doubt. Absolutely.

Stephen G. Bloom teaches journalism at the University of Iowa. He has been a reporter for the Los Angeles Times, The Dallas Morning News, The Sacramento Bee, and San Jose Mercury News. He is the author of “Postville: A Clash of Cultures in Heartland America,” published in 2000 by Harcourt, and “Inside the Writer’s Mind: Writing Narrative Journalism,” released in 2002 by Blackwell Publishing.