Golden Globe Hypocrites

I couldn’t watch the Golden Globes this year. The whole wearing black as a form of protest made me want to throw up.

 

In a recent interview Alec Baldwin admitted that everyone had heard stories that Harvey Weinstein had raped Rose McGowan. As in, everyone in Hollywood knew.

 

Meryl Streep recently called out Ivanka and Melania Trump for their silence.

 

Meryl Streep did not call out Georgina Chapman.

 

Last year Meryl Streep went on a rant about Donald Trump. Where is her rant this year? Where is her apology for her silence? Her donation to the politically correct cause?

 

There is video of Ben Affleck grabbing Hilarie Burton’s breast. He went on Stephen Colbert where he was supposedly “embarrassed” but then talked about the donations he’d be making. Because donations change everything. Thanks Stephen Colbert for giving him the platform for his damage control.

 

Oh, most of Hollywood still lauds Roman Polanski. They still can’t call him a rapist. They still are incapable of acknowledging that there is never ever a time that it is ok to anally penetrate a child. I mean, unless you are Roman Polanski.

 

Which brings me to, and I hate to say this, but Ronan Farrow. I loved his article that broke Weinstein-gate. Is it called that yet? Hmm. Still, I can’t help but wonder where his article about his mother is. You know, the one where he calls her out for her support of Polanski. Maybe Mia had a rough life, but she was married to Frank Sinatra. She was in a long-term relationship with Woody Allen. After the whole Woody thing fell apart, she still very publicly supported Roman.

 

No. I don’t expect Ronan to roast his mom, but maybe take a look at his mom’s actions and support of abusive men and look a little deeper into how the rest of Hollywood was on the same page, still is on the same page, even if they’re wearing designer black at an awards ceremony.

 

Mira Sorvino’s career was ruined. Who questioned that?

 

Kevin Spacey’s career wasn’t. Bill Cosby’s career wasn’t. Danny Masterson’s wasn’t. Brett Ratner’s wasn’t. There is a long list.

 

Oh, and Roman Polanski still has the support of Hollywood, probably most of those wearing the black tonight.

 

People knew what Harvey Weinstein was doing, what he did. This wasn’t some explosive secret that was blown open. Sorry Ronan. You just had the power and privilege that allowed you to write about what everyone knew.

I couldn’t watch the Golden Globes tonight because the all black protest was sickening. I’d rather all of those hypocrites say that they felt powerless, that they didn’t know what to do, the way Harvey’s victims felt, except they couldn’t possibly know how Harvey’s victims felt, unless they were victims themselves.

 

And if they were victims they’d know that no amount of black could ever make it right.

 

 

 

 

 

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Shamed Into Silence

I said no. Actually I said please, no, to him, as if manners would make a difference with someone who was forcing me to do something I did not want to do. It is something I will never forget, the part where I said please, please in a sentence where I was pleading with him to please not force me.

 

There was no confusion about it; at least I don’t see where the confusion could have been. There were no mixed messages. I told him no. I told him I didn’t want to be there. I asked him to please let me leave. I asked him to please not make me do what he was making me to do.

 

Later he took me home. We made small talk in his car as if what had happened had been consensual in any way. It wasn’t. There was no part where I said yes, no part where I said anything to him that could have made him believe I was interested.

 

I told people, though when I did it was with shame, as if the shame was on me and not him. I told people because somewhere in the deepest part of me I knew that what he did was wrong.

 

He confronted me in a crowded bar. He told me I wanted it. He told me that I went along. He left out the part where I asked him to please not force me. He left the part out where he did things that made me fear for my life.

 

People told me I was confused. People told me I was drunk. People told me I was desperate.

 

People told me he never would have done that. Even after he did.

 

I was 17. He was in his 30’s.

 

For years I convinced myself that everyone was right, that I must have done something to make him believe it was ok. I must have been desperate. I wasn’t forceful enough when I said no.

I told myself I wasn’t forceful enough when I said no, more than once, with tears in my eyes.

 

It is over 30 years later and not much has changed, except that I know that desperation had nothing to do with it. I know that my no was clear. It is something that should not have taken 30 years. It is something that shouldn’t have taken 30 seconds.

 

I was shamed into silence when the shame did not belong to me. I know that there are other women who understand that even if they are not out from under it.

 

Forget a society that still blames victims and celebrates those committing sexual assault. What we women do to ourselves in the aftermath is worse, yes, aided by a society that, even to this day, seems unable to understand sexual assault.

 

 

I look back often at that 17-year-old girl who was confronted in that bar and wish I could yell in her ear. I wish I could tell her not to back down, that he did everything she said he did. Instead all I can do is tell that woman who is turning 50 that it was not her fault, that she did nothing wrong.

 

Sexual assault is not your fault, unless you are the garbage assaulting someone. We all need to be on that page and stop the silence.

 

Please don’t tell me you’re sorry after you read this. Just please do better. We all need to do better.