That Monster Over There

I am not a sexual predator. Neither are you. There are no sexual predators. There are only people — whose predatory actions you do not see, even when they are in plain view.

We don’t believe in monsters. If she isn’t screaming then there must be no monster. If she waits until afterwards to scream, it is only out of regret. But hey, baby, we all do things we regret. You’re not special. And don’t try to get 15 minutes of fame by crying victim.

We don’t believe in victims. This is America. Nobody here is a victim. There are only dreams, and people who are either too lazy to achieve them — or who take responsibility for themselves and become successful.

There are no victims, and there are no perpetrators. Well, except for people who don’t look like us. People who don’t look like us are downtrodden and need our help, otherwise they become the monsters that stalk the night, waiting to eat us alive with their gang banging.

But if you look like me, then you cannot be a perpetrator, and you certainly cannot cry victim. We are a privileged bunch, superior to all other bunches. We are the chosen bunch.

Now dust yourself off sweetie, and come to the table for dinner. The rabbi is here.

About the Author
Sarah Ruth Hoffman is a doctoral candidate at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
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