I drank raw milk as a child. It was normal in Ukraine. I was a big-city kid with relatives in the countryside and I first got to milk a cow on one of our visits when I was four. It didn’t work out because I was afraid to tug, and nobody was going to be able to persuade me that the cow didn’t mind and, in fact, welcomed being able to lighten the burden of her udders. An adult would always end up doing the milking and give me a cup “fresh from under the cow”, as it was called.
I didn’t like the taste, so I never sought out raw milk since then. But I’m very much alive, as we can see. I get why people would drink raw milk “from under the cow” but seeking it in stores looks like an affectation. The transportation, the storage – the purported freshness is an illusion after all that.
In short, nobody is going to die either from drinking it or not drinking it. Getting emotionally attached to either activity is silly.