Justin the groper

As everyone in the world must know by now — if not the blesséd souls in paradise, cut off from the meejah — our Canadian prime minister, Pierre Trudeau’s little boy, has been plausibly accused of groping.

Well, at least it was a woman, as the dirty old men used to say.

The incident occurred in anno 2000, at a “music” festival on Canada’s Left Coast, and the “victim” was a local newspaper reporter. (Poor choice!) Her description of the event appeared in the paper, immediately thereafter, in a short “tut-tut” editorial. It became news again when someone dredged it up. I don’t doubt that person had a political motive. (Alas, it wasn’t spotted during the last election campaign.)

The Trudeau lad — still a young man on the make — now says he can’t remember. Or if he can remember, nothing bad happened. Or if something bad happened, it must have been hallucinated, because we should all know that Trudeau is a heroic feminist, who decided at birth that he would never invade anyone’s personal space. (He has been invading mine for several years now.)

We are all chortling.

No need to search for evidence; it is already there in black and white. But even were it hearsay, we have often been told (by little Trudeau himself, among others) that the woman must always be believed. This is the advanced feminist dogma: that only men misbehave, and only men lie. (By contrast, sugar and spice and all things nice: that’s what little girls are made of.)

Innumerable careers have been ended for less, and the Trudeau child was himself instrumental in ending several. His virtue signalling has been stellar — twinkling in the manner of a starry night, across the bowl of a cloudless Prairie sky. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

Do I feel sorry for poor Justin? No. Do I wish him political harm? Yes.

It has been suggested that he hasn’t handled the matter with political finesse. But that’s the beauty of it. He can’t. It isn’t possible. He is hoist by his very own personal petard.

Rejoice! Another proof that liberalism destroys itself. It will destroy a lot of other things first, but in the end, it flames out. No abnormality can endure forever.


In response to queries: Yes, I am a wicked, wicked gloater.