Kermit the Frog once said, “It’s not easy being green.” That struck me to my core, resonated from my visible turkey head all the way to my innermost chicken stomach. It’s hard to be misunderstood. It’s even harder to open your favorite website, https://www.northwesternflipside.net, and see an abhorrent article denying your existence. Turducken erasure narratives are dangerous to three-fowl-blends like me. 

Some people, like that recent Flipside contributor, lean on their narrow conception of science like it’s a crutch. They use it like a bludgeon to silence the voices of the oppressed, claiming that biology is the end-all-be-all of birdhood. As a turducken from birth, though, I need the world to understand that we are here. We exist. We deserve to be heard.

Almost worse is the way my story, our story, has been twisted, wrung out, and hung out to dry by bad actors throughout history. The disgusting myth that we consume our own cousins while they are alive — their blood changing and strengthening us — is misinformed at best and deeply, deeply antifowletic at worst.

Normalizing this kind of treatment in our culture lets bigots at home and abroad shout their views from the rooftops, grinding us into the dirt as we are belittled, mocked, and assaulted at every turn. Typical passersby don’t stop when they see us getting yelled at in the streets, living our lives peacefully. 

What will you do when they come for you next? 

Whether you’re a one-fowl or two-fowl person, or too foul to be in public, you deserve to experience your life as you wish to live it. And when you let turducken erasure fester in the news, in your comment sections, and at the dinner table, you’re complacent in your own silencing and maltreatment.