I may have spoken too soon last week when I defended my old friend Harvey Weinstein. It now looks very bad for him, with even Hillary Clinton joining the Greek chorus condemning him. It is not just boorish behaviour towards the fairer sex that he now stands accused of; it is also rape, something that he and his lawyers strenuously deny.
Mind you, I’ve always thought that someone was innocent until proven guilty — but that does not appear to be the case in these hyper-feminist times. And the idea that Bill and Hillary were unaware of Harvey’s shenanigans — not to mention the sleazy bunch that is Hollywood — brings to mind Captain Renault’s reaction to the gambling taking place in Rick’s Café. Everyone took the moolah and turned a blind eye and now the stench of hypocrisy is overwhelming.
George Clooney and brothers Casey and Ben Affleck are now all under the feminist microscope for what they knew about Harvey and, in the case of the Afflecks, for what they themselves may have done to the weaker sex. But all this smacks of the Soviets back in the 1930s, when any charge by anyone led to arrests and possible execution. Money is being exchanged for silence as I write, and let us not forget that Bill Clinton paid close to 850,000 big ones to an alleged victim, while collecting more than $10 million for his foundation from the Saudis, the same Saudis who are in the forefront of women’s liberation.
Two people who spoke in favour of Harvey, and asked that he be given time to defend himself, both had to eat their words rather hurriedly. Donna Karan recanted as soon as she was told by the sisterhood that if she wished to sell another blouse she’d better change her tune (she did, the next day)and my old friend Oliver Stone, who also defended Weinstein, did a mea culpa.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in