A Village Next to a Million Chickens: Poland's Poultry Boom and the Residents Fighting Back

According to the film, Poland is the largest poultry producer in the EU and the third largest in the world. Since joining the EU in 2004, its production has tripled to around three million tonnes of meat per year. More than 60 percent is exported, mainly to Germany and France. Polish companies have invested heavily in modern facilities and benefit from lower labor and land costs. Because demand in Europe has been rising for years, more and more megafarms for millions of broiler chickens keep springing up.

Some regions have become veritable chicken strongholds. In Żuromin County, northwest of Warsaw, the film says there are around 20 million chickens, or 500 per inhabitant. Many people there complain about the stench and air pollution. To keep growing, the companies need new sites, but resistance is increasingly forming there. Right at the start, a voice from the protests can be heard: if the invasion of industrial poultry farms in the east of the country is not stopped, Poland will become "Europe's chicken coop."

Barbara Bil lives in Kodeń, a small town on the border with Belarus. Until a few years ago, the former bank employee still kept cows, pigs and sheep. It no longer pays off, she says. Today she no longer sells anything; the animals are enough for her large family. She raised ten children, partly on her own, because her husband died a few years ago.

With her son Tomasz and her granddaughter Marta, she drives to her old farm, a few kilometers from her home. Until last year her cows were kept there; today the farm serves as a place to relax and as a family meeting point. The old wooden house means a lot to her: her grandparents already lived here, and she herself was born and raised here. The family had plans. Holiday cabins were to be built for everyone, and Tomasz wanted to build a house and live there with his wife and children.

Right next door, however, the Polish poultry company Wipasz has built a broiler farm with 15 barns in which around one million birds can be fattened at the same time. Barbara Bil describes the smell that sometimes drifts over: it makes you feel sick, as if you were smelling something that makes you want to vomit. She compares it to the cesspits that used to be next to houses when the slurry was stirred. Her son has given up his building plans. The smells are sometimes intense, he says; for everyday living, that would probably be too much of a burden.

Barbara Bil had just begun renovating the house when she learned of the plans. She and other residents were astonished that such an investment had been planned without the inhabitants' knowledge. No one asked, she says; there was no letter and no contact, neither from Wipasz nor from the municipal head (wójt).

Bil and other residents hired a lawyer and sued against the construction. The case has not yet been decided. In the worst case for Wipasz, the company would have to dismantle its barns, an investment of 19 million euros. The film considers it possible that this could become a precedent.

According to its own figures, Wipasz generates around 1.3 billion euros a year in revenue from animal feed and chicken meat. The company calls its barns "green farms." Each building houses up to 74,000 birds. The company has commissioned studies intended to prove that the facilities meet very high animal welfare standards and have no negative impact whatsoever on the environment or residents. According to an odor assessment around the farms, the levels are within the norm, and there is no nuisance. Wipasz did not allow filming in any of its facilities. Instead, insights into production in the film come from videos by the machinery manufacturer Ishida.

In the municipality of Kodeń, the protest is still visible in some places. At the same time, Wipasz has paid for a playground, supported kindergartens and schools, distributed donations to needy seniors and created around 70 jobs in the economically weak municipality. One resident says Wipasz financed something that was then blessed by the local priests, so that people would look a little more favorably on the project.

Barbara Bil visits her acquaintance Andrzej Buinski, who is not impressed by these contributions. The two know each other from the protests. In 2023, residents of Kodeń and other municipalities in eastern Poland gathered in front of a Wipasz company headquarters. The protests spread all the way to Warsaw, and municipalities signed an open letter to Donald Tusk. This did not prevent the construction in Kodeń, and the protest gradually died down. Bil says she is disappointed that even very large protests achieved almost nothing. In short: money rules the world. The lobby of a very rich company did its work; with money you can convince anyone of anything.

The protests sparked a political debate in Poland. In a parliamentary committee, representatives of the poultry industry responded to the accusations. The head of Wipasz stated there that these farms have no negative impact on the environment at all, and that this is the direction to go in. His reasoning: without modern farms, there would be no agriculture either. Without modern poultry farming, as has often been said, Poland would become an importer of meat, for example from Ukraine. The question is whether that is what people want.

In the municipality of Mniszków in central Poland, Katarzyna Wujek lives with her parents and three dogs. Trained as an environmental scientist, she returned after 20 years in London to take care of her parents. They moved here to live in a healthy environment, she says, because of the clean air and the space for walks with her mother. Now an entrepreneur in the neighboring village wants to build three barns for a total of around 140,000 chickens. Her biggest concern is pollution of the air and the groundwater; the smell goes without saying anyway.

Only a few opponents are willing to speak on camera. One of them is Tomasz Tarnacki, who lives with his family a few hundred meters from the planned site. He shows where the boundary of the investment runs and expects that it will creep up to his property over time. His observation from the surrounding area: whoever has built one or two barns later adds more. He makes an appeal to the investor, Łukasz Pawłowski: he is in favor of development, and if someone wants to grow, they can look for another site that harms no one. He would even be willing to help him with that, just not here. Pawłowski did not wish to comment to the filmmakers. On the Polish broadcaster TVP, he said there was no direct danger to residents.

Tarnacki's son has asthma. The film points out that, according to studies, large poultry operations release fine particulate matter, pathogens and ammonia into the surrounding area, sometimes in considerable quantities. Some studies suggest that such emissions can worsen asthma, but this has not been conclusively proven. Tarnacki has put a lot of work, time and money into his house. Nevertheless, he is certain that he will move away if the barns are built. People can tell him it does no harm, but he knows that many harmful compounds are produced there. He will not wait and see whether his son gets worse in a year or two, only to weep about it later.

Katarzyna Wujek networks with other opponents, gathers information and writes petitions and statements to the authorities. The municipal head does not comment and tries to remain neutral, she says. But they believe he would rather see the investment go ahead because he expects it to bring development to the municipality, or because it doesn't bother him that one person gets rich while the other residents suffer. In a letter to him, she wrote that the facility was planned too close to residential homes and a playground and that the chicken manure could pollute the surrounding waters. The area borders a landscape park.

Because of another appointment, the mayor sends his employee Marcin Wujek to the interview. Asked how the municipality benefits, he replies that, under the law, such facilities are exempt from additional taxes as special branches of agricultural production. The municipality therefore receives no direct revenue from a broiler farm being built. The municipality makes the decision, but according to Wujek it is legally bound by the opinions of other authorities, such as the environmental authority. If these are negative, it would presumably have to decide negatively as well. The voice of the population is also important, so one should not assume in advance that the facility will be built. If it is, he hopes for genuinely high standards and little nuisance.

In spring 2026, the environmental and water authorities, among others, gave the green light for the facility behind Tarnacki's property. A final decision is still pending. Another poultry farm nearby has already existed for several years and is to be expanded from six to nine barns; yet another is being planned.

Tomasz Jakiel is taking a completely different path. Instead of ever greater efficiency, he relies, in his own words, on farming in harmony with nature. He keeps chickens, cattle, goats and pigs and taught himself animal husbandry. He explains his motivation through the Polish word for food, żywność, which etymologically contains the word "alive": it means food that keeps us alive and fully capable. He could not buy such food in his area. After years at various telecommunications companies, he decided to produce it himself. He also enjoys working constantly with nature, in sun, rain and wind. That keeps him healthy too.

His wife Karina, his daughter and his son-in-law Filip work on the farm with him. Together they mix the feed for the broilers from various grains, lupins, soy, peas and vitamins. It is hard physical work, Jakiel says, but there is no other way to maintain quality without controlling every step. He calls today's economy an "economy of greed": everything as cheap as possible with the latest technologies to achieve the cheapest product. On his farm, they practice an "economy of quality."

Jakiel, however, also has to operate economically. He keeps Cobb broilers, a breed also used in industry because it grows quickly and yields a lot of breast meat. There, the birds are ready for slaughter after about six weeks. With Jakiel, they live for twelve weeks and develop a different body structure, which in his view makes the product considerably better to eat.

Unlike most animals from intensive farming, Jakiel's chickens have fresh grass under their feet, fresh air and sunlight. He compares this to humans: if we were locked in a cave and never let out, we wouldn't like this life without sun either. The pens measure three by three meters. According to the film, that is significantly more space per bird than in industry, where in the EU 16 to 26 chickens per square meter are permitted, depending on slaughter weight. Outside, there is practically no smell, Jakiel says. You can smell the animals a little, but not the intense ammonia smell familiar from industrial farms with a great many animals in a small space.

Jakiel and his wife move the pens every day. This way the birds get fresh grass, don't sit in their own droppings, and the manure is spread evenly across the pasture as natural fertilizer. After seven days, he says, you can no longer see anything at the spot where the chickens stood. The grass has regenerated, and goats and cows can graze there. The concept he follows is called regenerative agriculture and is meant to keep soils in good condition over the long term. The land he farms is not his property, he says, but something borrowed from future generations, which he wants to pass on as a kind of tenant.

He slaughters about 5,000 birds a year and sells the meat directly. The whole family can live off the farm, he says. He himself continues to work as an engineer, not out of necessity, but because he enjoys it.

The film clearly points out the limits of this approach. To meet just the current Polish demand for chicken meat with Jakiel's method, tens of thousands of such farms would have to be created. Jakiel is nevertheless convinced that moving away from factory farming is both possible and necessary.

Price is also an issue. At Jakiel's, a kilo of chicken costs just under ten euros; at Polish discount supermarkets, chicken is sometimes available for a quarter of that. He doesn't accept the comparison and explains this with an image: a Maluch (the Polish small car Fiat 126p) and a Mercedes both drive, but the comfort, driving experience and safety are not the same. Customers should vote with their wallets on how food is produced. But many people are not aware of how important food is for their lives. Everyone has to answer for themselves whether they would rather buy a good chicken than Pepsi, a good egg instead of cigarettes or other indulgences.

Months later, a few protest banners still hang in Kodeń. Many former opponents, however, have come to terms with the barns; some support them or benefit from them. One resident says people were frightened with talk of polluted air, water shortages and other consequences. At first, a mass of people were against it, then many changed their minds and started working there. The contributions to the municipality are hard to miss. There was even a check for the equivalent of 2,400 euros for wooden statues depicting regional history. The town itself lies around four kilometers from the facility, and little of the stench reaches it.

Barbara Bil's route to her farm, by contrast, leads along a small road past the operation, including a post of the company's own security service. The site is under constant surveillance. She feels watched on her own land like an intruder, by cameras and by people. As soon as she leaves the road by the company grounds, the security service leaves her alone.

At the farm, her hopes have not been fulfilled so far. Lately, water in the well has been running low more often. She doesn't know whether this is directly connected to the farm or to general conditions in the area, but the water is decreasing, and you can see it. The film notes that a connection cannot be proven so easily. What is certain, however, is that broiler operations of this size consume a lot of groundwater. On this day, too, the smell taints the forest air. Would she sell her land if Wipasz made a good offer? No, she says. They should have asked them whether they wanted this.

This is exactly what the lawsuit is based on: the residents were not sufficiently informed about the plans in advance. After weeks of waiting, a letter arrives. Their lawyer had filed a complaint with the local government appeals board (Samorządowe Kolegium Odwoławcze) over possible procedural errors in the environmental permit. The board has overturned the positive environmental impact assessment decision, an important prerequisite for the building permit.

Bil discusses the letter with two fellow campaigners. One of them, a town councilor with a law degree, explains that the fundamental error was failing to notify the parties concerned. The municipal head's first decision in 2022 was flawed because Bil had not been informed. It is a certain success, she says, that the residents must be heard and cannot be ignored as if they didn't exist, because they were here first. Bil can also feel a little satisfaction that the law does not ignore such defenseless people and that something can be achieved after all. The legal battle has not been won, however; the councilor expects an appeal. The municipal head, for his part, states that he informed all residents about the procedure in accordance with the regulations.

What happens if, at the final instance as well, the permit that may have been wrongly granted is revoked? Would Wipasz have to cease operations and tear down the facility? According to the film, there are still many open answers to that. Barbara Bil, in any case, does not intend to give up. She has people to fight for: 18 grandchildren, with another on the way, and all of them want a piece of land. Meanwhile, Wipasz is planning more broiler farms in eastern Poland, and there too there are supporters and opponents. Poland's poultry industry, the film concludes, remains a matter of dispute.