On the other hand, certain Christian groups and REAL Women of Canada (a "non-partisan, non-denominational" group that opposes not only sex work but "easy" divorce, subsidized child care, affirmative action, abortion, and seemingly anything that might keep women from full-time motherhood) "submitted arguments to the court against Lebovitch's constitutional challenge, arguing that existing laws are 'designed to protect the dignity of victims of prostitution' and that morality is the cornerstone of law." Gwen Landolt, national vice president of REAL Women, told WeNews she believes that decriminalizing prostitution in a meaningful way would put more women in danger, but it's clear from the group's Statement on Prostitution that the safety of sex workers is not necessarily a primary concern; the real goal is to make prostitution completely illegal. Sure, the statement mentions that sex work can be dangerous -- without acknowledging, of course, that many of those who do it believe further criminalization would only make things worse -- but the group is also worried about "giving [young children and teenagers] the impression that sexuality is merely recreation and sport, and not a responsible, loving expression best obtained within the desirable and permanent context of a conjugal relationship" and about the neighborhoods where prostitution is common: "Property values drop, traffic problems develop and the area often becomes noisy and dangerous." 

Landolt also told WeNews that "More effort must be made to help sex workers get out of the trade, since the majority does not wish to be in it." Without knowing where she got her numbers, I can certainly get behind that principle; no one should be forced into the sex trade, by other people or by circumstances, and those who are deserve help. But when people are saying they do the work voluntarily and would simply prefer not to be assaulted or killed while conducting their business, perhaps you should listen to them, instead of talking about traffic problems and property values. Perhaps you should ask if young children and teenagers are absorbing the message that some people in society deserve to be victims of violence, instead of worrying that kids might somehow find out sex is fun. And if you're going to declare that "morality is the cornerstone of the law," then perhaps you should pay attention when people like Amy Lebovitch explain, "There are a lot of my colleagues being raped and murdered and the laws are not helping."

Naturally, this means devoted Polanski apologist Bernard-Henri Lévy is back at the Huffington Post, praising the court for a "wise decision" that "honors the people who took it."  Lévy, who seems not to understand the difference between "bail" and "freedom" (of course, history shows his subject also struggles with that one), has really outdone himself this time. He's thinking about a lot of things: How the efforts of Polanski's lawyers and supporters (such as Bernard-Henri  Lévy!) have finally paid off, how the director's wife and children must be feeling, etc. (Like  Lévy, I do feel bad for Polanski's kids, except I don't think their problem is that their father's name has been "ignominiously dragged through the mud" so much as that their father is a famous child rapist.) But mostly,  Lévy is thinking about

Roman Polanski, who I don't know, but whose fate has moved me so much. Nothing will repair the days he has spent in prison. Nothing will erase the immense, unbelievable injustice he has been subjected to. Nothing will take away the hysteria of those ones who have never stopped pouring contempt upon him, hounding him through hatred and asking for his punishment as if we were living the darkest and most ferocious hours of the McCarthy era all over again.

Funny, I'm still thinking about that 13-year-old girl's grand jury testimony describing how Polanski drugged and raped her. Stupid McCarthyite hysteria! It's got me so muddled, I can't even properly appreciate the "immense, unbelievable injustice" that's been done to her rapist. And  Lévy's almost certainly right: Nothing will take that away. 

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I present you with video proof that there are people out there even more peculiar than your own kooky relatives. I for one am thankful that there won't be a place setting for a video game character at my family feast.

However tongue-in-cheek my theory is, it came out of my genuine surprise upon hearing "Let's Hear It for the Boy" as a grown-up. For the first time, it hit me that the song is not necessarily a sweet paean to a lovable doof; it could as easily be read as the story of a woman with no self-esteem who will rationalize any crap behavior from her boyfriend with "But he loves me!" -- despite the almost total lack of evidence to support that conclusion. When I was 9, I wasn't aware of any women who did that, but by my early twenties, I knew enough of them that Williams pleading "You gotta understaaaaand" took on a whole new meaning. What I didn't know was how long and rich the history of women singing pop songs in defense of not just lousy, but downright abusive, partners is.

Deborah Finding, a scholar at the London School of Economics, has written a dissertation called "Give Me Myself Again -- Sexual Violence Narratives in Popular Music." The title comes from a song by feminist favorite Tori Amos, but Finding's work also includes charming little ditties like The Crystals' 1962 "He Hit Me (And it Felt like a Kiss)." Chris Arnot at The Guardian describes the lyrics: "'If he didn't care for me,' warbled one of the most popular American 'girl groups' of the day, 'I could have never made him mad. But he hit me and I was glad.'" Oof. (That one was produced by Phil Spector, no less.)

"I knew that I wanted to do a PhD that would contribute something to the overall understanding of the way sexual and domestic violence was represented in our wider culture and how that influenced the way people think about the issues personally and politically," Finding told The Guardian. And although the 1980s and early '90s saw a lot of pop songs that raised awareness about domestic and sexual violence -- in addition to Amos' work, she mentions contributions by Tracy Chapman, Suzanne Vega, Alanis Morissette and Sheryl Crowe -- "We've gone full circle in the post-feminist era." Finding points to Florence and the Machines' 2008 single "Kiss with a Fist" -- the lyrics of which inform us that such a kiss is "better than none" -- a catchy, bouncy song that presents mutual violence as no big thing ("You hit me once/I hit you back/You gave a kick/I gave a slap"). Is this what female "empowerment" looks like in the twenty-first century? Being abusive right back to an abuser?

And then, of course, there are the songs by men. Arnot asks Finding about "'gangsta' rap and hip-hop, and their alleged encouragement of aggressively misogynistic attitudes," but she notes that that's hardly the beginning and the end of popular music that demeans women -- and the reasons why it's often the first genre to leap to mind deserve closer examination. "It worries me that there's usually a racist element to these discussions," she says. "Black artists are condemned, while white bands like the Rolling Stones and the Stranglers get away with deeply unpleasant lyrics." In any case, Finding "was more interested in analysing the way that women were narrating their own experience of sexual violence or how they imagined other women's experience."

Reclaiming the worst narratives from men doesn't hurt, either. Over at Jezebel, Latoya Peterson points out that Amos subverted the breathtaking misogyny of Eminem's "'97 Bonnie and Clyde" -- in which a man takes his daughter on the road after murdering her mother -- by covering it in her ethereal, distinctly feminine voice. It's not for nothing that Finding calls Amos "the patron saint of sexual violence."

Finding has spent a lot of time travelling to gigs in the US and the UK with Amos's fans and carrying out online surveys into how they respond to her music. "I expected 50 or so responses to my questions," she says, "but received over 2,000. Some 98% of the respondents said that they used her music as a means of emotional support."

Songs like Amos' "Me and a Gun," in which she candidly recounts her own rape, can help survivors feel less alone and more comfortable opening up about their experiences. Writes Peterson, "Finding's work is amazing because it illuminates the role of narrative in healing from assault or abuse by speaking these stories into existence." But popular narratives can also serve to normalize and/or trivialize abuse. According to Wikipedia, Florence of Florence and the Machine has explained on her Myspace page that "'Kiss with a Fist' is NOT a song about domestic violence. It is about two people pushing each other to psychological extremes because they love each other." All that hitting/slapping/plate-breaking stuff is just metaphorical, apparently. Except, the song is based on a couple she knew "who were so cool, but so visceral and so intense. The guy never hit the girl, but I saw her lamp him a couple of times, and she'd always give as good as she got. But it wasn't really physical violence, it was more about the fact that their animal passion for each other was the thing that was attractive for them. It was how joyful destruction can be, and how alluring it is to be in a relationship so fiery."

Uh, since when does "lamp" as a verb mean something other than physical violence? Does it just not count when a woman does it to a man? And has it occurred to Florence -- or the band's fans, reading that explanation -- that domestic violence often goes unseen by people close to the victims? Or that emotional abuse often leads to physical abuse? Or that there's a big difference between a pleasantly spicy relationship and "pushing each other to psychological extremes"? Despite the singer's disclaimer, Finding says rightly that the song equates "violence with passion in a way that sounds depressingly familiar." It sounds a lot like it did in 1962, in fact. I'm not saying women need to hold out for unrealistic heroes, but it would be nice if we'd come a little farther than that by now.

This was all part of a lead-in to the "The Early Show's" interview with Lambert, in which anchor Maggie Rodriguez implored him to think about "the children" and desperately tried to get him to apologize to his "child fans." Thankfully, Lambert got a chance to talk about the double-standard behind the uproar: "If it had been a female pop performer, I don't think there nearly would have been as much of an outrage." When Rodriguez asked whether it was an issue of being male or being gay, he replied: "Both. I think it's a double-whammy." Then she came back with: "But, but, I don't think people have said specifically that they were upset about the fact that you're gay or that you're kissing a guy." Right, people have generally been savvier with their prejudice -- unlike CBS.

You know what? My sensibilities have been deeply offended by this "Early Show" segment -- when do I get my apology from Rodriguez and and CBS?