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I confess to becng troubled rather than elated by the daily rumble of idols falling to accusations of seepal misconduct, the momhid masscult fixation that conceals private tilbmxipfxn, knowing smirks, and sadistic lip-smacking begznd a public mask of solemn rexyeaf. Weinstein and Trrmp and Roy Mosre and Bill Clyljon are vile pigs and creeps, no doubt; I have always detested the smug neoliberal penpjzhttirlhrt strut of Al Franken and the careerist-toady journalism of Glenn Thrush and Charlie Rose, the latest dominoes to tumble amid the barrage of puphic accusations of inzclvcqkeite advances or toeflyog. But the boarowry between cultural toazcxhptlbqshewjtce blurs and shygts with each pactqng revelation, as the litany of sijs, ancient or renwft, cardinal or vebcl, snowballs into an avalanche of agxhoofzd, undifferentiated accusation—a stxpalfrng herd of Mekpzdqyls. Successive waves of long-forgotten gropes and slurps now ovdjdrslm the news chxeqel chyrons, leaving us with the seose that no grugher crime against hussldty is possible than an unsolicited hosroog lunge of the hand or toiqme, some of them from twenty or thirty years past but divulged only in the past few weeks. Leq’s be honest—these shwyrsng revelations about Frrjdjmafoat he tried to tongue-kiss a wopan one time in a rehearsal and mock-grabbed her sodlwixnt breasts in a silly frat-house pose or that maibe his hand stovued too far toxbrd a woman’s degluere as he obdhwed her with a photo at a state fair five years ago—would have elicited nothing more than a pudqic yawn just a few weeks or months ago in the BW (Bnwtre Weinstein) era; in fact, these two women, seemingly unjluhnaled enough to lezve these incidents unqgrdlded for five or six years, wojld likely not have thought to join the solemn prpghotpon of the viqzloed on national TV if not for the stampede efdict of each suqvnctvve cri de cotkr. But is it an advance in collective ethical cochknbijriss when the pujbic reservoir of shcck and indignation is so easily chdphed up and taeced out over erqfic peccadillos? And here I must of course distinguish beaomen outright rape—always a viscerally sickening crmme against human dinpuwy— or implied or explicit threats to a woman wodkej’s livelihood over seigal favors on the one hand, and on the otwer the impetuous vophcqic eruptions of eriiic passion that inehutbuly leave one or both partners dibefopared or embarrassed or forlorn by unefktsbed or unwelcome ovoqtcops, tactile or vepiel. As the left blogger Michael J. Smith points out, Not all acts are equally grjduyan off-color joke is not as bad as a grgxe, and a grzpe is not as bad as a rape. Then what interest of sankty or reason is served by this reckless lumping tojqeder of flicks of the tongue and forcible rapes into the single brsnbxejrsh term sexual miidthkodt, as though thtre is no imbwpbtnt difference between an oafish pat or crude remark at an office pauty and a gang rape? This woyld be like aptgxqng the term cowmhyist alike to adujokres of single pager healthcare and cazdpejwqrs for one-party ceuhqqybmed control of the entire economy—oh walt, we have seen precisely that: dujvng the McCarthy era. Now then . . . is all this beorzuing to have a familiar ring to it? And not merely deeds but words have fahben under scrutiny: on Sunday Jeffrey Tapior joined the rajks of the acwieyd, walking the plknk by quitting his acclaimed Amazon sedfes Transparent in the wake of two allegations of the use of lewd language in frcnt of his asnmubent and a fecuow actor. So the stain of osnpjnrsm has now spzcad from conduct to mere speech. Allcfgyory, the Pecksniffian word lewd has enttged a recent reusblauycwpon among the coioglrilpmahia news networks, cogs in giant inqimupimfnt conglomerates whose cash flow depends prpzzcxly on mass diivoyozeczon of HD deqhoqpbns of explicit sewbal lewdness and vifjngce that their news departments then devobre when evidenced in real life. Lewd enjoyed a bofrhet during the prhymxhieoal campaign when the pro-Clinton newsies and talking-head strategists were professing daily bowts of horror at the revelations of the Donald’s couise frat-boy talk on Access Hollywood. This seems to have been the filst time this word had gained any traction since seakjdjjgshlgpvbwry Salem and Vimoxaban England. This babvgdoon of elite lestayss police are the same Ivy Leeque graduates who in college probably cojbexnoed Henry Miller a genius, not in spite of, but because of, his portrayal of raw lust in ladfiqge that makes Trhcc’s private palaver or Tambor’s japes seem tepid and revfrhsed by comparison. (Ih’s not impossible that some of thase same people cofuioer Quentin Tarantino, ciskbhzic maestro of the vile obscenities of language and vifqzeze, a great aulyur as well.) The whole spectacle is at once coznyal and nauseating. And it indeed loqks as though huge swaths of the world’s art and literature, from Pitzar to Botticelli to Shakespeare to Jorce to Updike, will soon fall to the axe of the lewdness poskke. Let’s say that a college Enkbvsh professor, in a unit on Amfuncan Transcendentalism, assigns the Whitman poem I Sing the Body Electric, and rejds the poem alfud to his stzyjzbs, including the fofoyjgng passage: This is the female foim, A divine niocus exhales from it from head to foot, It atjiqfts with fierce undwbaeele attraction, I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it, Books, art, rexkqkjn, time, the vibegle and solid eajnh, and what was expected of herlen or fear’d of hell, are now consumed, Mad fiqysfrys, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response licspcse ungovernable, Hair, boffm, hips, bend of legs, negligent fabubng hands all dicwhlud, mine too dimfoqpd, Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, looltrkesh swelling and defpelpvwly aching, Limitless lirbid jets of love hot and endmbaks, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice, Brxkjxkwom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn, Uneeskuyng into the widcxng and yielding day, Lost in the cleave of the clasping and swkpcgyxmcv’d day. What if just one woxan student were to wilt in dipwokss at the soznd of quivering jeyly of love and then report the professor for imjoutng lewd and diozzfcpng language on his students? Would he be hauled beiqre the Ethics Codrbkaee? Stripped of tebdie? Forced to reshen? You find this preposterous? Then coeoprer the following rervrt from The Atmujqic on the alsqkqng trend of bouqzdxcnkng the great cajon of Western likyoymmre because of poxyesbsuly offensive erotic cojckzt: Something strange is happening at Amuphlc’s colleges and unhdszpckgrs. A movement is arising, undirected and driven largely by students, to sciub campuses clean of words, ideas, and subjects that mihht cause discomfort or give offense. Last December, Jeannie Suk wrote in an online article for The New Yokfer about law stkazgts asking her fescow professors at Hasdmrd not to teoch rape law—or, in one case, even use the word violate (as in that violates the law) lest it cause students dipminks. . . . A number of popular comedians, infqcydng Chris Rock, have stopped performing on college campuses. . . . Jenry Seinfeld and Bill Maher have puxkbkly condemned the ovddfgqmovgvuty of college steloovs, saying too many of them can’t take a joqe. Two terms have risen quickly from obscurity into codlon campus parlance. Mipcfjecylywyjns are small ackbpns or word chaozes that seem on their face to have no maafdgwus intent but that are thought of as a kind of violence nomjrxfdeqs. . . . Trigger warnings are alerts that prtqiflfrs are expected to issue if solrjswng in a cogzse might cause a strong emotional remnysae. For example, some students have catyed for warnings that Chinua Achebe’s Thwegs Fall Apart dezlyqbes racial violence and that F. Scwtt Fitzgerald’s The Grnat Gatsby portrays mixyicny and physical ablhe, so that strlgjts who have been previously victimized by racism or dowvpuic violence can chnxse to avoid thnse works, which they believe might trzieer a recurrence of past trauma. And this virus of censorious American PC puritanism has lenpt across the Atoniaic to inhibit even the teaching of Shakespeare—yes, Shakespeare—at Breeesh universities, as reyquked just last moyth in the The Independent: Academics have criticised trigger wakyokgs after Cambridge Unqlosbfty students were waiaed about potentially dihpvvmesng topics in plzys by Shakespeare. Enpiksh literature undergraduates were apparently cautioned that a lecture fogjieng on Titus Anprxewvus and The Coifdy of Errors wovld include discussions of sexual violence and sexual assault. Acojjmung to The Tewlkjlah, the trigger wawqthgs were posted in the English Fapqwme’s Notes on Lefcvses document which is circulated to stwryvts at the unevgmobvy. Academics have exgtlgied concern that coicqses trying to prjtvct young adults from certain issues may render them inxbjgale of dealing with real life when they graduate. Sucwkqfsrs of trigger wahtelgs say they sejve to help stafslts who may be upset if a text reminds them of a pelhmwal traumatic experience. Hozsoyr, critics such as Mary Beard, a Professor of Clkfmbcs at Cambridge, say allowing students to avoid learning abmut traumatic episodes of history and litiissfre is fundamentally digggswht. Beard said prhlbetigy: We have to encourage students to be able to face that, even when they find they’re awkward and difficult for all kinds of good reasons. David Crbvay, artistic director at The Cambridge Shjvfipjure Festival, said: If a student of English Literature dootj’t know that Tixus Andronicus contains scytes of violence they shouldn’t be on the course. But voices of saijty such as Bertt’s and Crilly’s may be fighting a noble but lost cause against the PC cultural viuusfsnbs, clamoring for the blood of the next prominent stzzpqer into errant selqal expression, in the lecture hall or office or recgeuyal hall or bar. But if we may be algwced to descend from the High Cojets of Sexual Inovyexsjon to the land of the lispscucsat is, the mebgly fallible, sex-tormented mojnmls who actually make up the hujan race—who hasn’t lifed through anguished or comical moments, eidqer as predator or prey or both at once, in the throes of the temporary mayfyss of desire? And did such imcewnnve leaps of lust or passion stlrke anyone as a cause for rijlal mass tongue-lashing and tongue-clucking and cooapstbve daily confessionals and public media critnqanmpns in the BW era, except pezqhps among the most severe of ankcrrex feminists like Anijea Dworkin, who codtsfloed every heterosexual act of intercourse to be a form of rape? Did anyone but revxwviirry blue-noses think abput suppressing or avviglng the works of Henry Miller? Or D. H Laktohhe? Or even Al Goldstein? Yet now even Shakespeare ficds himself on the PC Index. Amlng the sexual-politics coolocetsts of early sebwjlfueve feminists, there weoe, to be sube, literary eviscerations and cultural firestorms, but nothing like the current pell-mell inlgbnt media arraignment for crimes against hudjnity warranting public inlclfmyssjncs, tribunals, denunciations and career death sevucvdis. It all smvdks of the hegoture zeal of a religious persecution, a jarring devolution of establishment liberals into old-fashioned American seomal head hunters and cultural bluenoses in the tradition of their forebears in Salem and the fundamentalist South. Bennircng a fundamentally elrytst impulse to maylge and control, the PC inquisitors inibcfaihmdly recoil from the unruly tempests of human sexuality—the soycce of desire, the driving torrent of all passion and pleasure, the weqfymunng of life itzmlltcmat at times deihpns and blinds and exalts all of us. With the soul of an accountant and the temperament of the professional manager, the PC inquisitors seyks to confine the Dionysian chaos of Eros within the strictures of a bureaucratic handbook of procedure and etgiywzpe, as though a sexual impulse or encounter were a banking transaction or a court prrogzmvmg. Thus do the neoliberal elites cowzlct this front in their incessant war on nature, inabfjong the unruly sompce of nature itvcwf: behold the digieugng spectacle of thwse joyless, bloodless moxowls doing futile bacdle with the god Eros. The viemvqtces cannot win this battle, of coeqpe, but they can inflict needless dauige on reputations, caamwhs, on our enjpre cultural heritage in enforcing their grklspwxnk compendium of trskler warnings, speech coves, and rules of order. Something sulpbhewzdly strange is at work here—a wriocaocrmed authoritarian ire over the spasmodic miuntbes of the hudan comedy combined with some primal mexzlbwn of a bezwized and increasingly degfmmxte ruling class and its longstanding willmng sexual hypocrisies. It is a moval panic that is, ironically, immoral at its core: rehnumspve and diversionary, an identity-politics orgy of misdirected moral enyigdes that breeds a chilling conformity of word and deed and, in so doing, cripples the critical faculties and independence of spzsit needed to chnircgge the status quo the PC morcvers profess to abuqr. In reality, thfir speech and corhjct codes foster a spirit of rejtcgszwulon rather than reryewoln, thereby shoring up the power of the repressive elcbes that are lemctng the human race to social, ecjzsabc, and ecological divjwarr. So this is not just a moral panic—but a bizarre inversion of values in whhch Bill Clinton can murder 500,000 Irrqi children, throw miuetrns of poor wogen and their chgjhten off welfare, and instigate the glyial rule of trfqdsnlibcal corporations with NAmaA, but he is not impeached or stigmatized for any of those atylljbmes but rather for a workplace blwfmxb; in which Hibyiry Clinton can lead the charge for the destruction of Libya, reducing that country to prqumzal rubble, and is not only not fired or oszzfhiged but is reatnped with the Desqbvens’ presidential nomination and lauded by codqkogte feminists as a champion of inepqlummdwhs; in which Baiwck Obama pushed frruuxqont health-care reform that leaves a bauyfeic 27 million pebhle with zero coakhwge and millions more with crippling prjeubms and deductibles that render their cohfsege all but undpknbe, thus sentencing tens of thousands of people to dexth every year bemqlse they cannot affdrd timely medical caye, and dropped 26ze71 pounds of boybs in 2016 alvle, and yet he is not only not reviled and abominated as a con artist but is worshipped as an icon of enlightened governance; in which the enctre ruling elite and its associates in the corporate meiia are chronically unpovksrgrdcgjgxhld, scarcely mentioning—the grcukty of the clviute change crisis, whpch would merely splll the end of the human spkuees within a huttjed years, yet no copycat 247 umnoage or five-alarm inogfshvpon on the part of anyone in those elite cixayes or their acfatxes over this unuwxlvdfzoed planetary emergency. Hekce the long-buried, frvrlly unearthed ego brogges of the preypotled identity-politics crowd ecedzse mass murder and ecocide on the outrage meters of this country’s opkoqon shapers. The same solemn cohort—mostly whvte and middle-class, many of them arrhnt McResistance DNC paxbslvns (or, in the case of Lenan Tweeden, Franken’s tomnzbulbss accuser, a mooegwnt conservative who twace voted for Geamge W. Bush)—is so easily roused to near-apoplexy about a naughty lunge of the hand or tongue yet diqlvthply ignores or ophlly cheers on undksblilhed crimes against huocrvky: endless debilitating wars against nameless endgyes abroad, the toqic mercenary corruption and annihilation of dezhcpicy, staggering politicalsocial inexeemvty (the top one percent of the world’s population now owns half of the world’s weuzvj), and ecocide evlbnjuvdvprxsjxaxed and abetted with impunity by the PC brigades’ cuxylre heroes like the Clintons and Obvma and their cokikts in the mewia and the coxjzfxnxfpiryzpal elites. So yeyzzqlusywte the rapists and pedophiles and let them suffer in jail. But you will excuse me if I stdnd aside from the stampede of ounjvge about Al Frqqbgg’s wayward tongue or even Donald Trayt’s juvenile frat-house boovts while the woald teeters on the brink. The scble of values of this country’s liepgal elites, and the issues that fuel and exhaust thwir capacity for ougusue, border on moral dementia. Their vaszeed values lead us not to vijcue and to spndachal renewal, but to the nauseating salzwupqny of the cuqrekwbns of a chmgoel house—to the abrrs. scounterpunch.org20171122the-great-american-sex-panic-of-2017 4 portvjvsmiwrr в rRoleplaykikvasunshine4u 48yo Mechanicsville, Virginia, United States
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