I keep hearing people saying it was 1975 in discussion about clerical sexual abuse.
It was 1975. We didn’t understand. It was before the dawn of time.
We didn’t understand because it was 1975, as if 1975 was when proto-humans finally crawled out of the primeval soup.
This talk is usually to explain why the Catholic bishops didn’t tell the cops about priests raping children, as if in 1975 dinosaurs were roaming the earth. Dreadfully, this argument has created a savage alliance between the apologists for abusers and those who are 35 or younger.
Bishops say it because it suits them, and the 35-year-olds say it because they know no better. In 1975 they weren’t born.
What the fuck is this talk about it was 1975?
Hold on a fucking second. Listen guys. It wasn’t 1875, or 1775. It was after Elvis and the Beatles.
In 1975, the Sex Pistols played their first gig. Bruce Springsteen released Born to Run. Dylan released the astounding Blood on the Tracks and Patti Smith was rocking New York.
Bill Gates was founding Microsoft, the Birmingham Six were wrongly sentenced and the movie industry produced Jaws, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Monty Python’s Holy Grail and Dog Day Afternoon.
Don’t give me this it was 1975 shit.
That doesn’t get you off the hook for boning children.
There isn’t the same gigantic chasm separating 2010 and 1975 that there is separating 1975 and 1940, except for the bishops, admittedly, who always lived in a time warp.
But for everyone else, please. Give me a fucking break.
You knew exactly what was going on.