If there were a species that landed upon us and took our women, forcefully impregnated them only to snatch their children away to be chopped, minced, fried, barbecued or curried, we would be in a state of outcry.
If we were to encounter premises with the blood of our fathers, mothers, wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, children staining the floors, their empty, naked carcasses hanging upside down to be pickled and salted, to be showcased in storefronts for purchase, this would be declared an act of war.
It's okay for us, because we're at the top. But the moment this happens to us, it is an act of subjugation, terror, brutality, barbarism. We would wonder for what purpose this was happening to us, and what we could barter to save our lives, to save our own people, when the only reason is that we taste good.
This is how we perpetually rape, terrorize, enslave, abuse. Day in and day out. It's normal. Our height of selfishness dictates that we may, simply because we can. We empower the idea of killing, murder, and brutality on a daily basis for no greater purpose than filling a craving, a line so fine that it's imperceptible; how can we be so shocked when it comes in the headlines when it happens to our own kind? This is our supremacy, this is our compassion, this is our morality.
This is what no one wants to hear.
