Two young footballers, Ched Evans who plays for Wales and Clayton McDonald of Port Vale, are on trial for rape.
They viciously attacked a young woman jogging through the park, dragged her into the bushes and… And that’s not at all what happened.
The young lady was staggering through the streets of Rhyl, North Wales, after a night on the town. She had drunk a lot of wine, followed by vodka and Sambuka. Exactly how much of each she didn’t remember, but obviously enough not to remember. She had her blouse undone, her bra showing, and her walk was describing a number of geometrical shapes, of which a straight line wasn’t one.
When asked politely, she got into a taxi with McDonald, who then took her to a Premier Inn (and one would think a wealthy footballer could have sprung for something nicer), where he and Evans had with her what they claimed was consensual sex.
But the prosecutor would have none of that. According to him, the girl was in no fit state to say ‘yes’: the 19-year-old was ‘very drunk, stumbling, slurring and had a vacant expression on her face’. If she was in no fit state to say ‘yes’, then she conceivably was in no fit state to say ‘no’ either. It was thus left to the judgment of two young and, truth be told, not particularly subtle men to estimate whether the degree of her inebriation fell within the range where a little fun could be had without risking years in prison. According to them, they judged right. According to the prosecution, they didn’t.
I have an idea: every young man on the make should be issued a breathalyser (on the taxpayer, of course) to be carried at all times and administered to any girl he tries to woo – before he tries to woo her. ‘Do you mind breathing into this tube, Miss, er, whatever you name is…?’ That would be wholly consistent with the modern view of romance.
But you haven’t heard the most awful part yet: the two men had gone out that night specifically for the purpose of having sex! They, says the prosecutor, ‘were on the lookout for any suitable girl and she had literally stumbled across their path.’ It’s good to see that for once the word ‘literally’ wasn’t misused. The same can’t be said for the prosecutor’s pathos. After all, I haven’t met many men who in their youth didn’t go out specifically to pick up girls, and those few I have known weren’t that way inclined.
The trial is continuing, and the brief news item from which I’ve picked up the facts of the case couldn’t have provided every detail. It’s possible that the two ball-kickers really are midnight (or in this instance 4 am) monsters unfit for civilised society. It’s also possible that the defence will prove its case, using as evidence that the young lady wasn’t only an habitual drunk but also a cocaine and cannabis user.
In the former case, the defendants will be put away for a long time, and good job too. In the latter case, they’ll go free. In either case, we should ponder the issues involved.
Judging by what I see in London, and I live in a decent neighbourhood, and especially what I’ve seen in places like Chester, it’s impossible to pick up a sober girl on a Friday night: none of them is sober. Considering that the youngsters who pursue them are also seldom teetotal, the only way to prevent cases such as the one ongoing is to issue a blank ban on casual sex or even attempts to have it. That’s hardly realistic, nor is the expectation that a youngster full of sap will pass up an opportunity of an easy score with a girl who, though drunk, seems willing. Let me tell you, I wouldn’t be the one to cast the first stone.
This of course isn’t an isolated case. The definition of rape has become open-ended beyond the boundaries of elementary common sense. A few years ago, for example, a young lawyer and his colleague checked into a hotel room after a party, undressed, got into bed and indulged in an hour of vigorous foreplay. It was only at the point of no return that the woman said ‘no’, and there was no return. Consequently, the lawyer spent a year in prison, and, if you think justice was done, you’re off my Christmas card list.
Not being a conspiracy theorist, I wouldn’t want to say that our courts, in cahoots with the ‘liberal’ media, are waging a deliberate campaign to alienate the sexes by sentimentalising rape and expanding its definition. But the temptation to say so is strong. Women are being brainwashed to believe that rape is the worst thing that can happen to them. Real rape is indeed a violent, vile crime. But the worst thing? How about being crippled for life? Losing an eye? Having every bone broken? Being slashed up? Killed? Let’s keep it in perspective, shall we?
What we are witnessing today is the shockwaves of the feminist explosion a few decades ago, when Freudian claptrap was fused with revolutionary afflatus to claim that ‘every man is a rapist’ (Germaine Greer, ring your office). Even every man having sex with his wife was supposed to be acting out his rape fantasies, which eventually led to the criminalisation of ‘marital rape’.
In the past, the Decalogue told us to steer clear of other men’s wives. Now, to be on the safe side, perhaps we should give a wide berth to our own.