Food manufacturing is an ideal candidate for targeted accelerated

Host: The factory floor stretched like a metallic desert, filled with the drone of conveyor belts, the clatter of steel trays, and the rhythmic pulse of machinery. Overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed — pale and cold — casting long reflections over the gleaming chrome surfaces. The air was thick with the scent of wheat and oil, warm yeast and melted plastic.

Host: It was past midnight, and most of the workers had gone home. Only two figures remained — Jack, seated on an overturned crate, grease-stained clipboard in hand, and Jeeny, leaning against a stack of empty packaging boxes, her eyes tracing the flicker of the conveyor’s idle belt.

Host: Outside, rain whispered against the factory’s corrugated walls, while inside, the night was filled with the hum of machines that never truly slept.

Jack: “Anthony Pratt once said, ‘Food manufacturing is an ideal candidate for targeted accelerated depreciation because the food industry, our biggest industry, creates significant flow-on benefits.’”

Jeeny: “That sounds like something you’d agree with.”

Jack: “I do. It’s practical. Smart economics. Incentivize production, boost local jobs, strengthen supply chains — simple cause and effect.”

Jeeny: “Simple for the spreadsheet, maybe. But not for the people behind those machines.”

Host: Jack raised an eyebrow, his grey eyes sharp beneath the harsh light.

Jack: “It’s called investment, Jeeny. You invest in the sector that feeds the country. Depreciation allowances let manufacturers modernize — new equipment, more efficiency, fewer breakdowns. Everyone wins.”

Jeeny: “Does everyone? Or just the ones with the capital to claim the write-off?”

Host: Her voice was calm but edged with conviction. The hum of the idle machinery seemed to pause for her words to echo.

Jack: “You think this is about privilege? It’s about progress. You can’t build a competitive economy with outdated gear and bleeding margins. Accelerated depreciation is a lever — pull it right, and you push growth forward.”

Jeeny: “Growth for whom, Jack? For the shareholders, or for the woman who packs bread at 3 a.m. for minimum wage?”

Jack: “If the company grows, the jobs stay. That’s the equation.”

Jeeny: “No, that’s the illusion. Companies upgrade machines, yes — but often at the cost of workers. Efficiency always eats empathy. The same technology that raises margins usually replaces hands.”

Host: A faint flicker of tension glowed between them, visible in the shimmer of fluorescent light and the shadow of the running belts. Jack stood, pacing toward the glass window that overlooked the entire line — long, silver, silent.

Jack: “So you’d rather the industry stagnate? Let foreign imports swallow our markets? Let small plants close because they couldn’t afford new equipment?”

Jeeny: “No. I’m saying the benefits can’t just flow upward. Pratt’s logic works — but only if those ‘flow-on benefits’ reach beyond the executives’ ledgers.”

Host: Jeeny walked slowly toward the control panel, her hand brushing over the worn buttons, each one labeled with years of use and fatigue.

Jeeny: “You call it depreciation. I call it acceleration — not of machines, but of the gap between those who produce and those who profit.”

Jack: “You’re romanticizing poverty again.”

Jeeny: “No — I’m humanizing production.”

Host: The sound of a dripping pipe echoed through the vast hall, punctuating their silence like slow seconds on a dying clock.

Jack: “Look. You want to talk fairness, fine. But food manufacturing isn’t Wall Street. It’s factories like this — towns that live and die on output. If faster depreciation keeps them alive, that’s not greed, it’s survival.”

Jeeny: “But at what cost? Faster doesn’t always mean better. You can’t measure dignity in depreciation schedules, Jack.”

Jack: “You can measure jobs.”

Jeeny: “Temporary jobs. Conditional jobs. Until automation reaches the next rung. And then what? You write off another machine while people write off their futures?”

Host: The fluorescent light flickered once, twice — like a heartbeat losing rhythm. Jack sighed, pressing a hand against the cold glass.

Jack: “You think idealism feeds anyone? You think sentiment pays the bills?”

Jeeny: “No. But neither does efficiency without empathy. Look at the dairy closures in Victoria — factories consolidated, automated, optimized — and hundreds laid off. Yes, profits rose. But families fell.”

Jack: “And without those optimizations, those same factories would’ve died sooner. You’re not saving anyone by freezing progress.”

Jeeny: “Then progress needs a conscience.”

Host: The rain outside grew heavier, a steady drumming against the roof. Inside, the hum of an old compressor kicked in — the sound of persistence, of machines refusing to sleep, mirroring the debate between logic and heart.

Jeeny: “When Pratt says ‘flow-on benefits,’ he’s right in theory. But flow isn’t the same as fairness. The system flows toward whoever stands at the top of the slope.”

Jack: “That’s the nature of gravity, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s time we learn to tilt the ground.”

Host: Her words landed like a wrench dropped on concrete — sharp, echoing, undeniable. Jack turned, his jaw tense but his eyes softened by thought.

Jack: “You want reform. Fine. But how? Tax incentives for corporations already pushing sustainability? Or handouts to companies that can’t survive in the first place?”

Jeeny: “No. Responsibility. If you’re going to accelerate depreciation, then require investment in community — in people. Link the benefit to the benefit. Every dollar written off should build something that lasts longer than machinery.”

Jack: “Like what?”

Jeeny: “Like training. Safety. Stability. Real food, real futures. Not just numbers.”

Host: A moment passed — quiet, electric. The hum of the factory became almost melodic. Outside, the storm broke open fully, rain hammering the roof like applause or warning.

Jack: “You talk like a socialist with a poet’s heart.”

Jeeny: “I talk like someone who’s seen too many hands replaced by circuits. Machines don’t buy bread, Jack. People do.”

Jack: “You’re not wrong.”

Host: He said it softly, reluctantly — the way truth often escapes the mouths of those who resist it.

Jack: “You know… when I was a kid, my father worked in a plant like this. He used to come home covered in flour dust. One year they brought in a new system — faster, cleaner, safer, they said. By Christmas, half the crew was gone. He kept his job, but something changed in him. He stopped whistling when he came home.”

Jeeny: “And you think about him when you talk numbers.”

Jack: “I do. Every time. Maybe that’s why I justify it so much — to believe it all still means something.”

Host: The bulb above them flickered, casting a pale halo around the two figures — not adversaries now, but reflections of the same question: how to build a future without erasing the hands that shaped it.

Jeeny: “Then maybe Pratt’s right — food manufacturing is the heart of the economy. But the heart doesn’t beat for profit alone.”

Jack: “So what does it beat for?”

Jeeny: “For everyone it feeds — from boardroom to breakroom.”

Host: Jack smiled faintly, the first true crack in his armor.

Jack: “You always make philosophy sound like policy.”

Jeeny: “And you make policy sound like confession.”

Host: The two shared a quiet laugh, low and weary, but honest — the kind that breaks tension rather than deepens it. Outside, the rain began to ease, tapering into a light drizzle.

Host: The factory lights dimmed slightly, casting long, golden shadows over the machinery — relics of progress, symbols of labor.

Jack: “Maybe accelerated depreciation isn’t just a tax term. Maybe it’s a metaphor.”

Jeeny: “For what?”

Jack: “For how fast we consume everything — resources, time, people — and then write off the cost.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s time to slow the depreciation down.”

Host: The camera pulled back, framing the vast, silent floor. Rows of machines stood in perfect stillness, gleaming in the dim light like sleeping giants.

Host: And amid that stillness, Jack and Jeeny’s voices lingered — logic and heart, economy and empathy — two sides of the same ledger, searching for balance in a world that counts value faster than it feels it.

Host: Outside, the clouds began to part, revealing the faintest edge of dawn. The storm had passed, but the question remained, echoing like the hum of the conveyor belts ready to start again:

Who truly benefits when the world runs faster than its own humanity?