Go Away, Ghomeshi

Some news stories are like burrs that won’t let go. In 2014, CBC radio host, Jian Ghomeshi, took a precipitous nosedive from media star into notorious pariah when his penchant for rough/violent sex was revealed. Voracious national conversations and debates ensued, including those around sexual violence, rape and the shortcomings of Canada’s judicial system.

At first I supported Ghomeshi. If you read his Facebook post explanation it sounded sane and rational, it led you to the conclusion that he was the victim of a vindictive ex-girlfriend who was twisting the truth of their kinky sex life. Then days later he was fired from his high profile job at CBC as beloved host of the morning program “Q”. I thought, no doubt it’s because of staid, prissy mores, which is a relatively easy conclusion to make in Canada; sexual permissiveness is more about theory than practice and plenty of repression still hunkers down at the margins. But soon more women came forward with accusations and shocking details and the full story began to emerge: Ghomeshi is no self-aware, safe-practicing kinkster who always had his partner’s consent, he’s a manipulative predator and serial abuser, a narcissist who needs violence in order to get off. And like many others who followed and watched this gong show, I sat in muddled amazement and horror and asked myself, why wasn’t this guy outed sooner?

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Game of Thrones

You’ve got an inexhaustible quantity of warriors—maiming, killing, torturing, lobbing off heads, blood spilled in every imaginable way, a gore fest. And you’ve got women (yes, I see there are a few with power) who are regularly stripped, stalked, chased and raped, paraded, humiliated, degraded and raped, slapped, hung and shot through with arrows and raped. Naked trinkets, sexual fantasy fodder, worms on the hook to keep viewer ratings up.
And speaking of ratings, what about that 18A classification due to the “Mature Themes”. Episode after episode, season after season, all the men are clothed, nary a cock in sight. Let me repeat: nary a cock in sight. Occasionally a naked butt, otherwise an extraordinary absence. Makes me want to cackle long and hard into a megaphone. Talk about a lack of mature themes. Does anybody else see a kingdom-sized anxiety complex being perpetuated here?