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As a professor of History, I study the injustices of man.  Much of my research concerns the wrongs a people endure in the name of religion, race, or gender.  We, as Americans living in the twenty-first century, pride ourselves in believing that we are the greatest nation in the world and seek to provide peoples around the world with the same privileges we have fought so hard to achieve.  In our own country we are fighting the war on terror, the war against drugs, the war against poverty, and the war against child abuse.  We are ready to raise arms against someone who mistreats a dog, a cat, or even a goldfish.  Yet, when it comes to a population which appears to have nothing to contribute to society, or to one that has seemingly outlived its usefulness, we turn our heads when stories of abuse are reported.  This is a story that was never reported, and would have been seen as fiction if it had been.  It is the story of my great aunt, pronounced “ont” because she insisted that she was no insect, who used to say that truth is often stranger than fiction.

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