Avoidance

 On Sunday night I felt drawn to the furor being generated by celebrity acrimony. 

Woody Allen and Mia Farrow continue to wage war with one another about allegations of the abuse by Woody of Mia's adopted daughter. Not the one Woody married. That remains unseemly enough, but instead the focus was on Dylan, who was five years old at the time. 

Just up the dial, Meghan Markle and her husband Harry were detailing their struggles trying to keep their little family together amid the challenges of being in a bi-racial coupling. And being an heir to the throne. 

Try as I might, I could not move myself from the office to the living room where these discussions were taking place on our big screen TV. Something about the relative importance of these difficult life events compared to those experienced by those in my own neighborhood. Far be it from me to diminish the suffering of all of these celebrities, but the resources allotted to them to help them sort out their lives seems proportional to the candlepower of the spotlight being shone on them. 

Because they are famous. 

The voices of hundreds of abused children and their parents rarely make the evening news, let alone grab the brass ring of an HBO documentary. The pitch meeting must have been a treat. "This one's got everything: Sex, celebrity, and suffering! Did I mention the celebrity angle? Who cares if this thing is decades old? This thing has Emmy written all over it! Did I mention that it has Mia Farrow and Woody Allen in it?"

Meanwhile, Oprah was doing us the favor of turning over the rocks of the Royal Family in order to expose their antiquated ways to the light. What lessons could we learn after we already know that Harry's mum was killed by fame? Who would be shocked to discover that there was racism mixed into this inbred clan? 

This is not an excuse for any of the behavior exhibited by any of these perpetrators. I was able to write off Woody Allen some years back, when he made a public defense of his relationship with Mia Farrow's daughter with whom Mister Allen became acquainted while she was still in her teens. I tuned out most of the rest of the noise after that, feeling sad and disabused by another comedy hero who turned out to be a cretin. 

And the Royals? Well, since Diana was the one that I ever mildly connected to, I had pretty much let go of that thread after Elton John finished singing at her funeral. 

Yes, I can see the potential of the million watt bulb being placed on the spot where these folks sit before cameras. That light could allow others in similar situations to access the help they need, and to feel some sense of belonging and hope. 

Or it could be just another Sunday night of "must-see litigation and dirty laundry."  

I'll be in the office, thanks.