Fergus Finlay: We must call out men who use power to bully and control women

But you probably need to know (no spoilers, I promise) that It’s also a movie about a young mother who is viciously abused and traumatised by an unrelenting thug of a husband. He doesn’t just beat her up sadistically, he does everything in his power to deprive her of her home and to take her kids away from her.

So how come a movie that has such cruelty and violence at its heart can be so uplifting? Because of herself. Her character, her guts, her resilience.

The movie’s portrayal of a kind of brutal misogyny, a man’s determination to exercise power and control over the women (and children) in his life, is chilling. While we were watching the movie, an unrelenting misogynist in Spain was proclaiming his right to do whatever he wished with the women around him. And one of the most misogynistic and corrupt thugs in political history was making millions by selling tee shirts printed with his mugshot.

Misogyny, it seems, isn’t going away. Neither is bullying.

We’ve had bullies in Ireland before, in politics and in sport. It seems to be one of the accepted ways to make it to the top. And it seems that it’s possible to remain there for quite a while.

But the mix of bullying and misogyny is especially toxic. Men who use their power to seek to bully and control women are disgusting, hateful. 

But if I’m being honest, the thing I hate even more than the abusers are the people — almost always other men — who refuse to stand up to them. They are the enablers of abuse.

From everything we can read — and see — we can figure out a couple of things about the President of the Spanish Football Association, Luis Rubiales.

 It’s abundantly clear that he sees himself as having some sort of divine right to behave in whatever way he regards as appropriately macho. First, he sexually harasses one of the players that has just won the World Cup for Spain. When there’s a public outcry, he issues one of those half-witted apologies that might be expected from a lecherous drunk in a bar. But in no time at all he and his lackeys are calling the woman he had sexually harassed a liar and threatening to sue her.

The key members of his own Association — a lot of them hand-picked — cheer him to the echo when he makes a speech attacking the victim of his sexual aggression. And then on top of that, it turns out that he is also a vice-president of the European Football Association UEFA — and is handsomely paid for it — and that body has so far not managed to utter a word about his abusive behaviour (although to be fair, some others have).

Maybe he and his lackeys won’t survive the public outcry. But they will try. In the meantime, Jenni Hermoso, the footballer he molested, is being re-traumatised every day by the furore Rubiales has created.

At one level the entire thing might seem like a deeply unedifying spectacle. But at another, it represents a microcosm of the way power is often used corruptly by some men against women to take what they feel entitled to.

In other parts of the world the rebellion against that power, led by women, created the Me Too movement, which has led to the exposure of some levels of corruption and change in some aspects of culture.

But in America, something rather strange has happened in the wake of Me Too. Misogyny is under attack — but so are women. The Supreme Court judgment that effectively struck down Roe v Wade has been followed by a slew of US states introducing draconian restrictions on every woman’s right to choose, whatever her circumstances. Issues of sexuality and sexual orientation have become the subject of increasingly bitter culture wars. More and more right-wing politicians are campaigning on what they refer to as family values — values that increasingly diminish the place of women. It’s almost as if the misogynists are taking their revenge.

They are led, of course, by a monster of misogyny. Donald Trump was raised from the time he was a child to take whatever he wanted, and especially to take it from anyone less able to defend himself or herself. Since early adulthood he has used money, then celebrity, then political power, to exploit others unmercifully. He has been convicted in a civil court of sexually abusing a women brave enough to stand up to him, and we know from his own words that he believes in the right to “grab” any woman he finds attractive — in exactly the same way as Senhor Rubiales.

It remains mind-boggling that this creature already served a term as President of the United States, and as incomprehensible as it is there is a real possibility he will be elected again. But his appeal is real. The anger and the alienation he taps into, and stirs into hatred of “the other”, is real.

And most remarkable of all is the fact that no one who really counts within his own organisation, the Republican Party, will stand up to him. It is a massive political organisation with an extraordinary history that has produced powerful personalities. Not one of its major figures will now oppose the sexism, corruption, and dishonesty that Donald Trump represents. They could, all of them, make a similar case about ordinary Americans being left behind. But they won’t, because it’s more important to kowtow to the Fuhrer.

And that, ultimately, is the only thing that makes Trump possible. As it has made corruption and abuse possible throughout history.

Impunity is never created by the abuser. It is created by the people and the systems around the abuser, and often manipulated by the abuser to increase his protection.

 Sometimes impunity is created by self-interest (if we expose the abuser we’ll damage the institution), but more often than not it’s created by fear, shame, and stigma.

We know about impunity in Ireland. We know how powerful institutions would always choose to protect themselves and in the process the abusers within, rather than acknowledge the criminal damage done by their own people.

That’s why, at the end of the day, the story told by Clare Dunne in her powerful little movie matters. It’s because the courage to stand up for yourself matters. Fighting back, speaking out, matters. Resilience matters. Herself matters.