What if, instead of chickens, Kristof was discussing the plight of poultry slaughterhouse workers from diverse backgrounds and he interrupted the narrative to proclaim, "Like most readers, I don't particularly empathize with Latinos. It's their misfortune that they lack blue eyes. (I'll get letters from indignant Latino lovers, I know!)"
To cite one more example, in "A Farm Boy Reflects" in The New York Times, July 31, 2008, Kristof speculates that in a century or two our descendants "will look back on our factory farms with uncomprehending revulsion. But in the meantime, I love a good burger."
I would like to know how, by this logic, he believes the transition will occur. Because each burger-loving Kristof has to be multiplied by billions.
As usual, Kristof talks in this column about growing up on the family farm, raising and slaughtering animals, terrorizing geese and doing terrible things even to the "intelligent" animals, and boasting that he eats them anyway, only "I draw the line about animals being raised in cruel conditions."