It is often remarked that we are in a war, or a battlefield of some kind. Indeed, the War on Women seems to be pathetically obvious for those who wake up. I think of the war metaphor every time someone mentions the patriarchy.
Is it possible we are in a reservation adjacent to a slaughterhouse, one with a complex social system? Some women have significant status, some have none. Occasionally when a woman is unlucky or rebellious enough she is wheeled away, never to be seen again. If she is luckier she is wheeled back to the herd, bruised and broken. It has become an informal agreement in the herd that the disappearances are Not to Be Spoken Of. If they are spoken of it was because the woman was grazing in the wrong paddock or had hurt a farmer. The herd must remind themselves that the same thing wouldn’t happen to Us, the good, the obedient. Those who do speak up are shunned, though are agreed to be acceptable company in some circumstances.
All the time the farmers sit on their porches, sipping lemonade while calculating profits.