As a regular consumer of modern media materials, I am used to being violently nauseated on a regular basis. However, it’s doubtful whether any single headline has caused a more violent heaving of the abdominal muscles, a more frantic clutching of the bucket, a more ferocious urge to write a poorly spelled comment on a News Ltd blog, than that which appeared on the front page of The Age earlier this week: “Whales have won”.

Hear that, human race? Game over. The whales have won. The people have lost. Thanks to the savage aggression of Sea Shepherd’s Paul Watson and his crew of hairy tofu pirates, the Japanese have pulled out of their Antarctic whaling season, perhaps never to return; and it is all of us who must pay the price, as we suffer the indignity of being lorded over by sea mammals for the rest of our days.

Look, I am no bigot. I, like all men and women of goodwill, deplore racism of all kinds, up to a point. But the one thing I have always felt we could all agree on, no matter what our colour or creed, was that we are definitely better than animals. Some animals we’re a lot better than. Take ibexes, for instance: they’re rubbish. I recommend taking a look at some ibexes some time if you’re feeling low: it’ll cheer you up immensely to see just how superior you are to them.

And the same has applied, to a greater or lesser degree, to all other animals as well. We may admit that horses are useful, that chimpanzees are intelligent, or that kittens have many forthright opinions, but we always had the security of knowing that at a fundamental level, every animal on earth is, when compared to even the least of us, worthless moronic scum. Are we to lose that security? Are these scruffy Bolsheviks poncing about the Southern Ocean to rob us of the essential grounding of the human psyche, by allowing an animal to win?

Animals do not win. People win. Look throughout history. At every turn we have won. We have domesticated, hunted, slaughtered and humiliated with knitwear every kind of beast, and I am in no mood to stop now just because some beardy aqua-hobo decided the only way to get a girlfriend was to hop on a boat and hurl himself in front of perfectly lawful harpoons.

What is a “sea shepherd”, anyway? You know what real shepherds do, Mr Watson? They responsibly and efficiently escort their sheep to market, so as to facilitate their slaughter for meat. Any sea shepherd worth his salt wouldn’t be obstructing whalers, he’d be giving the whales a gentle nudge in the direction of the kill zone.

And don’t get me wrong: I don’t like it when whales get killed. I’m a sensitive guy as everyone knows, and the sight of these majestic giants of the deep being brutally butchered, once I get past my innate human blood-lust, makes me feel quite sad, really. But isn’t that the price we pay for being human? Nobody ever said life would be easy. If we want to make our way in this world we have to accept that the occasional massacre of beautiful and intelligent animals is necessary. It’s collateral damage, like when terrorists hide in a wedding, or when you burn your house down for the insurance money. Means to an end, swings and roundabouts, circle of life, etc.

It’s all about showing the animals who’s boss. Who do you think the whales think is boss now? It’s not us, brother. It’s not the weak-livered, sissy-spined, jelly-testicled human petticoats huddling fearfully on shore for fear of accidentally stepping on an anchovy, that’s for sure. Drop a microphone into the Southern Ocean today and you’ll hear a new whalesong humming through the waves, and that song will be called “What a Bunch of Pussies”.

(I mean, the microphone should be attached to something, obviously. Don’t just throw a microphone overboard, that’d be a bit of a waste.)

I guess by now you realise what I’m talking about. I’m talking about species-ism. When did we lose sight of the benefits of species-ism? When did species-ism become a dirty word? When did it become a word at all? Let me tell you, it is species-ism that has sustained and nurtured us as a civilisation for millennia. Of all the various kinds of bigotry and prejudice, species-ism is both the most moral, and the likeliest to result in delicious pies. What’s not to like?

Species-ism has no real downside. Unlike racism it doesn’t make us feel guilty, and unlike sexism it doesn’t force us to listen to people whining at us all the time. Unlike capitalism it is affordable, and unlike socialism it is not a gay Muslim plot to kill us all. All species-ism asks is that you never let an animal get the upper hand, and that you occasionally throw a rock at a dog, and in return you get great gloopy ladlefuls of self-esteem and social cohesion.

But that’s all been kicked to the kerb with this “victory” by the whales. Suddenly we are no longer top dog. Henceforth we will be forced to tug our forelock to Free Willy, and live out benighted lives crushed and broken beneath the tyranny of the blowhole.

It may not be too late, leaders of the world. It may not be too late to pull back from this precipice of taxonomical suicide we are set on. Stop treating the whales with kid gloves (and that’s another thing: why can’t we have kid gloves anymore? Bloody PETA). Let us once more let the noble whalers roam free upon the wide blue oceans, asserting our dominion as God intended. Don’t let humanity fall from the top of the food chain. Let’s get out our harpoons, sharpen our flensing knives, put Paul Watson in a small box where he will be force-fed quarter pounders five times a day, and remind ourselves who’s number ONE on this planet.

Take action. Before the entire human race diminishes, flipper-whipped, into the dustbin of history, let’s come together as one and stop the whales today.

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Peter Fray
Peter Fray
Editor-in-chief of Crikey
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