Our self-styled “elite” emperors aren’t wearing any clothes. In some cases, literally.
Amid the condescension, there are contradictions. So a century-old statue of someone dead a hundred and fifty years who does not conform to the identity-group pieties of 2017 must be torn down – whereas an actual flesh-and-blood human being who does not conform to the identity-group pieties of 2017 can stagger around Hollywood and New York and London and Rome treating women like garbage.
And, more specifically, I see from this week’s Multiplex releases that Hollywood is so exquisitely sensitive that, when it options a novel called The Chinaman, it feels obliged to change it to the far more insipid The Foreigner, lest any, er, man from China take offense at the word “Chinaman”. Is that a Weinstein movie? Did he modify the title? “Geez, we can’t call it The Chinaman, are you crazy? Gimme a minute, I’ll think of something – I’m just finishing up with a Chinabroad from the Shanghai accounts department…”
Once upon a time, the elites chafed under middle-class morality, and found sly workarounds for their darker appetites. Then came liberation. And in the ruins of bourgeois society a new moral hierarchy arose: Dreamers trump citizens, sexual identity trumps religious faith, female empowerment trumps the manly virtues…
And yet, as the case of Harvey Weinstein suggests, in the end nothing much has changed: As the old elite declined to be constrained by middle-class morality, the new elite decline to be constrained by their own purported morality. In the end, it’s still about who has power, and who is disposable. As Lee Smith points out, the truth about Weinstein is only in the papers because Hillary lost. Were President Rodham in the Oval Office, this story could not run – because the First Gentleman has done everything and more that their longtime donor has done.
But then Hillary’s very candidacy makes the same point as Harvey’s drenched pot plant – for, if Democrats believed their own pap about “glass ceilings”, they would have found an Angela Merkel or Helle Thorning-Schmidt or Theresa May or Julia Gillard or Helen Clark or Portia Simpson-Miller, rather than nominating not merely the wife of a former president (which is pure banana republic) but the creepy enabler of the most sociopathic exerciser of droit du seigneur in the modern era (which is even more pathetic). And, as the cherry on top, they saddled her with a slogan that sounds like a pledge of solidarity with sexual-assault victims – “I’m With Her” – but is, in fact, the precise opposite: I’m with Hillary, and Hillary’s with Meryl, and Meryl’s with Harvey, and Harvey’s with that gal from the TV station in the corridor to the kitchen, but once he’s zipped up and returned to the fundraiser, he’ll be with Hillary, too.
Oog. I just threw up in my mouth a little at the very thought of it. Note to all the liberal rapists, molesters, pederasts, gropers, abusers, and general perverts, all of whom tend to be physically as well as morally repulsive: put the damned clothes back on, please.