(For the record, these words are being written before the Ford-Kavanaugh hearings.)
Much was made a few weeks ago of Cory Booker’s infamous “I am Spartacus” reference. If you actually saw and remember the Stanley Kubrick movie, the referenced scene saw hundreds, perhaps thousands, of vanquished gladiators captured by the Roman general, Marcus Licinius Crassus. Crassus stands before them, prepared to let the gladiators live, albeit returned to slavery, as long as they turn over to him their rebellion leader, Spartacus. However, if they refuse to point out Spartacus, Crassus will crucify all of them. Heroically, one by one, each gladiator rises to proclaim “I am Spartacus!” For a greater cause than themselves, each one rises to proclaim a lie. Amid the chaos of hundreds shouting cacophonically, Crassus decides to crucify them all. They lied. They knew they would be martyred for it. But they believed they were lying for a cause greater than themselves.
Booker may have destroyed his Democrat presidential chances for 2020 by playing the fool, but even a broken clock is correct twice daily (except, perhaps, on the two nights annually when we change the times). He inadvertently uttered a prophecy, auguring a veritable “I am Spartacus” moment in American history. We now have women rising, one by one, proclaiming in true “I am Spartacus” form: “Kavanaugh tried to rape me.” There was the Christine Ford allegation. Then Deborah Ramirez rose: “No, I am Spartacus — it was I to whom Kavanaugh exposed himself.” And then the man whom Tucker Carlson calls the “Creepy Porn Lawyer” now has a third #MeToo gladiator proclaiming “No, I am Spartacus — Kavanaugh did it to me.”
We live in a time of unabashed filth and deceit in America’s public square. A time of shameless mendacity and shameless shmutz— filth — that has made our social lives more coarse than ever. All we can do as individuals seems to be limited to being honest, ethical, caring, loving, empathetic, compassionate. At work. At play. To visiting the sick, welcoming the wayfarer, clothing the naked, consoling the grieving, burying the dead. It has never been easier to be a Light unto the Nations. All it takes in America circa September 2018 is for someone to be honest and decent. And Mike Pence’s practice of never having a business dinner alone with a woman unless his wife is on hand makes more sense than ever
I long have celebrated aspects of the #MeToo movement. From the outset, my published writings and speeches have asserted that the movement is long overdue. I have seen women mistreated, and I gave up two cushy, lucrative jobs — one as an attorney for a billionaire, and one as rabbi of a lucrative congregation — because, in each case, I put myself on the line to take down a fiend who had mistreated women in his orbit. Long before there was #MeToo, I stood as #MeOne.
I am thrilled that Bill Cosby’s knock-out-drug actions were revealed, that Harvey Weinstein now faces trial, that Leon Wieseltier is out of the publishing world, that Matt Lauer is out, that Charley Rose is out, that my once-favorite actor Kevin Spacey is out. Kaiser Söze finally was caught. I am thrilled. My entire life — as a rabbi, as an attorney, as a professor, as a father of three fabulous and brilliant daughters whose tuitions I paid so that they each could get an Ivy League education — has seen me as an extremist on the subject of how women are treated or mistreated. My first wife pursued a doctoral degree at my encouragement, and my second wife who already had a stellar professional career successfully has pursued additional avenues of achievement with my encouragement. When my first wife, a brilliant woman — she was smart enough to divorce me, right? — was asked by her boss to bring him coffee and to water his potted plants, I urged her to quit immediately even if it would mean that I would have to take on a second job.
I am totally comfortable believing that something may have happened to Christine Blasey Ford 36 years ago, that some fiend at some party near some swimming pool on some day in some calendar year may have tried to pull her into a room, pull off her swim outfit, press a hand on her mouth to silence her and nearly might have suffocated her. I believe that all is possible.
And I also believe unequivocally — as do millions upon millions upon millions of Americans who just prefer not saying so openly, in light of the repressive times in which we live — that Brett Kavanaugh was not the one, was not at such a party, is not that kind of person, never was that kind of person, cannot be that kind of person. That whatever nonsense he may have done in high school — whether calling out a question in class without raising his hand, whether asking “Can I go to the bathroom?” instead of “May I go to the bathroom?” — that he is among the last of fellows who would have done what is alleged.
As each new accuser, politically motivated by the Democrat Left scare that Justice Kavanaugh will perceive the American Constitution as the guide for judging law, rises to proclaim “No, I am Spartacus — Kavanaugh raped me!” I increasingly am persuaded that the entire #MeToo movement now is collapsing on itself, another case of classic Democrat liberal overreach. It is Robespierre taking a revolution against the monarchy and autocracy of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, and losing his head as he drives it careening out of control, abandoning decency and righteousness, and misunderstanding the power of his cause, thinking that he now has free reign to chop off any head he likes. In the end, ’tis his that gets decapitated.
Thus, it now is time to add the letter “N” to #MeToo. We need to speak also of #MenToo. Men also deserve to be believed.
Neither women nor men have a monopoly on the truth, and it is as evil to destroy a man who is innocent as to destroy a woman.
The cynicism in certain quarters of the #MeToo movement now is overwhelming, as we see the anti-Kavanaugh Gladiators utterly unconcerned with the cries of Juanita Broaddrick, who persuasively asserts that Bill Clinton raped her. Paula Corbin Jones who asserts that Clinton dropped his trousers, exposed his member to her, and demanded that she touch it. Kathleen Willey whom Clinton groped when she tearfully came to him and asked for employment. We know that Clinton was a repeat offender. It is public record. Likewise, we see the cynicism of the Left as a woman pleads to be heard and believed that Keith Ellison attacked her, mauled her, dragged her by her hair across a floor — but is blown off because Ellison is thought to be an up-and-coming Democrat. Suddenly such women and their pleas fall on deaf ears.
How explain to Judge Kavanaugh’s daughters that their father is being crucified by political cynics who simply want to deny him a Supreme Court seat? None of this is about truth. The Democrats’ demands for an FBI investigation is not about searching for evidence or facts; the FBI already investigated Kavanaugh six times, and these latest allegations are matters under the jurisdiction of local law enforcement, not federal investigation. When the tables were turned, it was Joe Biden who said it most clearly — take a minute and rewatch his crystal clear denunciation of those who sought an FBI investigation of Clarence Thomas. Rather, the only purpose of an “FBI investigation” would be to delay the vote on the Kavanaugh nomination until after the new Senate is seated in January, subsequent to the upcoming November elections. With Democrats wistfully hoping for a blue wave to give them a Senate majority, that is all they want: just a cover story to justify delaying the Kavanaugh vote to 2019. By then, they hope, even after Kavanaugh is fully exonerated, a Democrat Senate majority would be able to “Resist” and deny any new Trump appointments to anything for the next two years.
But how explain to the children of Brett Kavanaugh that all the lies about their dad are not true, that none of it really is about anything their Dad ever really did? That no one reasonable seriously believes any of the “I am Spartacus” martyrs, each standing one by one, each offering to be crucified for the cause of stopping the Kavanaugh confirmation?
Men, too, sometimes deserve to be believed. The men of the Duke lacrosse team. The men of the University of Virginia fraternity. The man falsely accused by Lena Dunham. The hundreds and thousands of men who falsely have been accused of sexual assault, of rape, whether by angry people seeking vengeance or as part of an evil divorce strategy to barter for more alimony, child support, and custody. And the moment that the falsely accused man throws up his hands and agrees to pay more alimony, more child support, and to concede more child custody… all the claims of child abuse, sexual violence, rape dissipate. Oh, yes — and Al Sharpton and Tawana Brawley. Indeed, just google: “false rape claims.” See also: “See Also.”
Several decades ago — around the time of that swimming pool party — a young military figure in the Reagan White House named Oliver North went before Congress for hyped hearings. The nation expected him to go down in flames, taking President Reagan with him. Instead, his compelling testimony riveted a nation. The build-up to destroy him served instead to lay the foundation for his rise. He has been a major figure in American life ever since, once of the most respected of military pundits.
I am hoping the same for Kavanaugh as the Senate Judiciary Committee hearings resume on the “I am Spartacus” accusations. That the same Americans who missed the first round of the Kavanaugh hearings now will be riveted and will get to know Brett Kavanaugh first-hand, now that the subject is not about federal jurisprudence or the Chevron doctrine or strict construction — but instead about what people really care about: sex, sex assault, sex allegations, sex denials. That Americans will see how deeply good and uniquely special this man of character in an era of coarseness and shmutz.
In time, hopefully the Schumer-Durbin-Feinstein overreach may help turn a tide in the American electorate’s view of the November elections. It is hard to know because, even though politicians of both parties always begin their sentences with “The American People are too smart to…” — the reality is that they are not, or we would not even be in this epoch. But there is something uniquely good about Kavanaugh. In the cases of the Weinsteins, the Wieseltiers, the Lauers, the Roses, the Spaceys, once the accusations came out, floodgates opened because we started hearing that “everyone always knew” about this one or to stay away from that one or to avoid ever being alone in an elevator with the next one. Not so Kavanaugh.
Ultimately, with Kavanaugh we have a claim from a woman who told no one anything for thirty years, then told a therapist a story that differs markedly from the current version aimed at taking him down. She is not sure when it happened. Not sure exactly where it happened. There were four men — oh, no, it was two men — oh, actually, one of the four men was a woman… and none of them knows anything about it. Then there is the “I am Spartacus” Gladiator who attended Yale, and no one but she ever experienced any incident, and she never told any of her friends about it, and even the extreme-liberal New York Times had to skip the story because even they saw through it. Even the extreme liberal Gray Lady could not see it fit to print.
The Democrats specialize in the evil politics of identity. I do not gainsay Christine Ford or Deborah Ramirez or whatever emerges next from the Creepy Porn Lawyer. But on this one: “I am with him.” #MenToo.
