The following is a satirical work of fiction related to cockroaches in general. Any resemblance to any event, real or otherwise, is purely coincidental.

In every civilized society, there comes a moment when difficult constitutional questions must be answered. Ours, unfortunately, concerns cockroaches.

Do cockroaches possess dignity? Can a cockroach claim liberty? More dangerously, can one expect society to distinguish between infestation and existence?

These questions have acquired renewed urgency after certain public discussions on unemployment, fake degrees, and the peculiar tendency of constitutional democracies to compare inconvenient populations with household pests. Clarifications have naturally followed. We are informed that the criticism was never directed against all cockroaches, only the counterfeit ones. One must admire the precision. History itself has often progressed through such careful distinctions.

The modern cockroach lives a tragic life. It is born in darkness, survives on leftovers, and spends its existence avoiding footwear from people who claim to despise dependency while simultaneously ensuring that no window ever opens. It is then criticized for inhabiting drains instead of drawing rooms.

The respectable classes maintain that they hold no prejudice against cockroaches. Some of their best acquaintances are cockroaches. Their objection is merely to uncultured cockroaches, fraudulent cockroaches, uncivil cockroaches, unemployable cockroaches, politically inconvenient cockroaches, and occasionally, visible cockroaches.

The ideal cockroach, therefore, must remain invisible.

Society demands extraordinary things from cockroaches. They must acquire degrees but not question institutions. They must seek employment but not display desperation. They must participate in democracy but not smell of public frustration. Above all, they must never emerge collectively from the cracks, because nothing alarms civilization more than the sudden visibility of those it spent decades ignoring.

Predictably, some misguided lawyers have now begun advocating constitutional rights for cockroaches. These sentimental radicals argue that even creatures living beneath sinks possess the right to life and liberty. One activist reportedly submitted before a constitutional court that aesthetic unpleasantness is not a valid ground for extermination. The court, displaying admirable restraint, neither agreed nor disagreed, preferring instead to list the matter after vacations.

Meanwhile, television debates continue with the seriousness usually reserved for war crimes.

“Should hardworking taxpayers subsidize sewer-dwelling insects?”

“Are elite institutions being infiltrated by academically unverified cockroaches?”

“Do cockroaches misuse victimhood?”

One panelist clarified that he respects all insects, but added that society cannot function if every cockroach begins demanding equality before the law. The nation nodded solemnly.

Naturally, the cockroaches themselves remain divided. Some insist that if they acquire enough certificates, enough deodorant, enough English fluency, and perhaps one or two recommendations from butterflies, society may eventually stop reaching for insecticide. Others have accepted a harsher truth: extermination rarely depends on merit.

The real genius of civilization lies in its language. Before exclusion comes classification. Before violence comes metaphor. Nobody exterminates human beings. One only controls pests.

And yet cockroaches persist. Buildings collapse, governments change, ideologies rebrand themselves, but the cockroach survives every cleansing campaign launched in the name of hygiene, merit, or public morality. Perhaps this explains the discomfort. The cockroach is proof that systems designed to erase people often fail to erase their presence.

The constitutional question therefore remains unresolved.

Can a cockroach possess dignity?

The answer depends entirely on whether one sees a living creature, or merely something that appears unacceptable under bright light.