Mrs. Dalwhinnie is pissed off

And not at me, for a change. No, nor at Gian Ghomeshi, the man who used to host  the leading morning show on CBC radio. She is pissed off at the women who testified against him. As their case has fallen apart under questioning, it appears they have lied, colluded, and compromized themselves hugely by having sexual relations with the odious Mr. Ghomeshi, after the alleged violent acts he committed against them. Mrs Dalwhinnie feels that her sex has been let down by the conniving creeps who testified against him. Apparently Christie Blatchford feels the same way.

Whatever else, the courtroom at Old City Hall, where the sex assault trial of Jian Ghomeshi ended Thursday, was generally a lousy place to be for a woman.

Everywhere you looked, there were women being caught in lies or omissions on the witness stand and then resorting to justifications for their evasive conduct taken straight from the therapist’s couch or latest self-help book; women being escorted in and out of the courtroom by protectors from the victim-witness office; women being soothed, IRL and online by their supporters, who took to labelling certain blogposts or tweets with “trigger warnings,” lest, God forbid, victims of sexual assault should accidentally wander onto a dangerous opinion or factual situation and be re-traumatized.

Tyler Anderson/National Post Jian Ghomeshi arrives at the courthouse for the final day of his sexual assault trial in Toronto, Thursday, Feb. 11, 2016.

It was akin to being a member, by virtue of gender alone, of an over-delicate, slightly feeble-minded citizenry in need of perpetual deference and protection both.

God bless you, Blatchford, for saying that. Her video at the same site says the the women were duplicitous, lied, and misled the police. Worse, the environment at the police department has been overtaken by PC, where women are treated as a slightly feeble-minded citizenry in need of perpetual deference and protection.

I do not know where this feminist thing will end, but so far as I have ever been able to make out, it is and has been  a cry for privilege, for the right to compete but the entitlement to a better outcome, and above all, to be treated as morally superior.

Once, decades ago, I had one of those strange dinner gatherings that one can have in one’s thirties  where people who had never met before were at table together. A girlfriend of a friend of a friend started on the usual feminist rant: the full litany of “we are oppressed, have always been oppressed by males” and she quite clearly did not have the least expectation that anyone would dare to say a word against her. A older lady had taken out knitting as this was going on, and she stopped in a stitch and asked, fixing the young woman with an eye:

“So, are you saying then, that women are morally superior to men?”

A silence fell, as the young lady had the wit to realize that she could not go on without making precisely the kind of claim she said she abhorred when it was done to her sex.

And that pretty well sums up the entire history of feminism: the claim that women are morally superior beings to men. Nothing I have observed of women’s behaviour compared to men’s would lead me, or anyone else for that matter, to that conclusion. And so I no more defer to women than I do to men, other than on the basis of character, age, class, rank, infirmity and the myriad real things by which humans are distinguished.

As C.S.Lewis once observed, you might go to a woman for compassion but you would almost always go to a man for justice.