Christie Blatchford has it right: to paraphrase her gist, men are sitting ducks, or at least like those slow-moving targets in cheapo carnival shooting games, where everyone is guaranteed a prize. All it takes now is the rumour of a rumour that ‘something’ happened, ten weeks, ten years ago, something often not even remotely illegal. An unwanted caress, or a glance, or just making a woman within one’s proximity ‘uncomfortable’, and a man is ruined forever, with no legal and fair trial ever able to save him. He’s done, toast, hasta la vista.
If there is one consolation, the accused can