Eventually, sexual harassment will complete its inevitable transit from Cardinal Sin to Maybe Bad Form to the least significant, um, peccadillo. The reason for this? Political expediency, of course, with a D in parentheses:
[T]he only way to stay viable as a political party, according to the rules they themselves created and have so vigorously enforced lo these many years, is to somehow make this stuff “ok.” Always believe the woman, right? No means no, right? “Affirmative consent,” for pete’s sake? One way or another, that stuff is going right out the window with the audition tapes from the Weinstein Company.
My (trite, obvious) guess is that the Left will craft themselves a victim narrative. Here in the next few months, we’ll hear calls for a “national conversation” on the pitfalls of power.
“National conversation,” you may have noticed, translates to “lecture with mandatory attendance.”
Nobody’s saying Al Franken should’ve done that — of course he shouldn’t! — but the poor dear, stressed out from his heroic defense of the Constitution, fell victim to the most insidious disease of all, the disease of being a member of the ruling body of the most powerful nation on Earth. Who wouldn’t grab a sleeping woman’s hooters under those conditions? He needs therapy. Fortunately, our friends in academia have come up with a kind of therapy he can do in his off hours, or even on his own, in his Senate office. Stepping down would, in fact, be counterproductive, as he needs to learn to channel those urges — normal, red-blooded heterosexual urges, there’s nothing wrong with those! — into more “appropriate” behaviors, and the only way he’s going to learn how to do that effectively in the corridors of power is to remain in the corridors of power.
In 2032, I fully expect General Motors to resurrect Oldsmobile (d. 2004) just long enough to produce a Ted Kennedy Centenary Edition.
[insert “airbag” joke here]