The Last Word

No, not from me, since I can barely get the first word pounded out here over the roar of clogged sinuses, plugged ears, a raggedy throat, and a chest that protests at being asked to expand any more than absolutely necessary to let in any of that... ah, yes, oxygen. Instead, the last word for today comes from Katha Pollitt, injecting all the reason you need into the insane why-are-we-even-having-this-debate debate over whether drugging and anally raping a child should matter if you're, like, a really artsy filmmaker.

It's enraging that literary superstars who go on and on about human dignity, and human rights, and even women's rights (at least when the women are Muslim) either don't see what Polanski did as rape, or don't care, because he is, after all, Polanski--an artist like themselves. That some of his defenders are women is particularly disappointing. Don't they see how they are signing on to arguments that blame the victim, minimize rape, and bend over backwards to exonerate the perpetrator? Error of youth, might have mistaken her age, teen slut, stage mother--is that what we want people to think when middle-aged men prey on ninth-graders?

'Nuff said.