The Woes of Weinstein

While en route to Rikers Island, a pudgy man (worn by grief both given and received) grabs at his chest in vain. A heart – a cruel and sadistic heart – does the only thing it knows how to do: keep beating. Blood rushes to the man’s head, and his life’s decisions and their recent ramifications swirl about in his mind.

Had he never known fear till now? Surely, the emotions he was responsible for getting across the screen were sustained out of some inner struggle? Or, at least, when he threatened the careers of his female employees, could he not see what fear and anxiety and brokenness were then?

Perhaps it was out of a search for love that he had driven himself to such desperation, off a cliff and into moral oblivion. Over 100 women have accused the man of sexual misconduct over the past several decades. Now he has been declared guilty of criminal sexual activity in the first degree in addition to rape in the third degree.

This is Harvey Weinstein – a modern-day Genghis Khan: a sex-driven monster who was as ruthless in the industry of cinema as the Mongolian conqueror had been in his battles. And both used women as casually as a comb.

The Hollywood veteran was rushed to Bellevue Hospital following the cardiovascular episode. After a heart operation, he was moved to the Anna M. Kross Center, where male inmates are kept. Apparently, Weinstein also had a recent, and unsuccessful, back procedure. He’s on a slew of meds, including shots for his vision.

Meanwhile, many women have been able to take a stand and see justice prevail – this time. This can begin to pave the way to authentic freedom and safety in the workplace, especially for women.

Weinstein exemplifies the rot of society. And now it’s out in the open for everyone to gawk at. At the same time, the hope is that this serves as pressure to anyone who walks a similar path.

The message is this: the path of abuse only leads to decay. Look upon the pitiable Weinstein, utterly bankrupt of every spiritual and physical merit. This is a revealing aspect of society. We should be asking ourselves, “What kind of society bred this sort of behavior?”

Unkempt, hunched, shattered – the 67-year-old hobbles around with many physical and chemical aids. His body has begun to take on the aura of his heart; all has fallen to ruins. A decrepit man, whose mortal future hangs in the balance, he has time aplenty for pondering his predatory shortcomings.

A restless heart, stricken for lack of love, took its thirst to the passion of earth and blood and dust, as fickle and fleeting as anything. And this heart filled its void with fame and sex and domination. None satisfied it. The pit was only widened.

What did Weinstein need? He needed to know what true love was. He needed to know what charity was. No one ever told him the movies weren’t real. No one told him who a genuine hero was and who a villain was.

He had never been told that sex wasn’t a glistening, readily attainable Academy Award. One’s an object, while the other is made to be an act of love. Two totally different things. Most regrettably, no one ever told Mr. Weinstein what love was.


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