Sexual harassment protests are still jarringly one-sided

Oprah Winfrey was clearly focused on something.

During Reese Witherspoon’s gratingly fawning introduction at Sunday’s Golden Globe Awards, her teeth were gritted, the hint of a scowl in evidence.

And when the Grand Dame of Visionary Bluster stepped onstage to accept a lifetime achievement award, there was no doubt her speech would be explosive.

And it was: eloquent, inclusive and galvanizing to a room of Hollywood do-gooders who had come to make a dignified political statement about sexual harassment but — until Oprah rallied the troops — had relied on black dresses, demure pins and cliché-ridden speeches that failed to mention the nature of the beast.

All of which crashed to a halt with her mesmerizing account of social injustice that stretched from her recollections of watching Sidney Poitier accept the first Best Actor Oscar awarded to a black man to pointed comments about the cabal of deranged clowns brought to their knees by sexual assault allegations in Hollywood.

“For too long women have not been heard or believed, if they dared to speak their truth to the power of those men,” thundered Winfrey as women in the audience sat in rapt attention.

“But their time is up! ... (loud applause) ... Their. Time. Is. UP!”

I loved the speech, with its laments for “a culture broken by brutally powerful men,” promises of “a new day on the horizon” and shout-outs to “a lot of magnificent women, many of whom are right here in this room tonight, and some pretty phenomenal men, fighting hard to make sure that they become the leaders who take us to the time when nobody ever has to say ‘Me too’ again.”

But if there were “pretty phenomenal men” in that room, they were keeping a pretty low profile.

What I saw — and I’m being generous — was a bunch of pasty faced dimwits, vaguely aware something important was going on (what, they weren’t sure) wondering when the spotlight would turn back to their own accomplishments.

“Uh oh, these women seem pretty upset,” you could imagine them thinking. “I have no idea why, but I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

So they sported prominently placed “Times’ Up” pins and soberly over-thanked their wives, mothers and random female colleagues, aware that for reasons they didn’t fully

understand, they needed women as allies, that their stamp of approval was, on this night, mandatory.

But none of them — not one — felt it worth their while to take a stand against an industry roiled by allegations of sexual harassment and assault.

Not one felt it important to acknowledge the #MeToo and Time’s Up campaigns that have sparked the most significant social revolution of the last quarter-century.

“Sex scandal? What sex scandal? I haven’t been harassed. What’s all the fuss?”

If you watched this show, you gained a greater understanding of why the atrocities of people like Harvey Weinstein have been allowed to continue for decades not just in Hollywood, but in media, sports, military, policing, Silicon Valley and every other bastion of male privilege.

You begin to understand why sisters, as the song goes, are doin’ it for themselves.

Because men don’t see a problem. To them, women talking about “restorative justice” and “a tectonic shift” is like listening to a droning teacher on a Charlie Brown TV special: “WAAK! WAAK! WAAK!”

After watching this show, you begin to understand why a class-action lawsuit against the Waterloo Region Police for the most outrageous sexual harassment allegations you could imagine has been met with a blow-off statement from the force’s lawyer insisting all the claims are “untrue, exaggerated, misleading and/or defamatory.”

Because the men in power don’t get it. They don’t care. If these women would just settle down and get over whatever it is they’re so revved up about, things could get back to normal.

“That’s because they haven’t yet figured out that it impacts their well-being, too,” Kristen Houser, of the U.S. based National Sexual Violence Resource Center, told the Huffington Post.

“How nice to feel like you don’t have to participate.”

James Franco, accused of sexually inappropriate behaviour by five women on Twitter shortly after the Globes ceremony ended, seemed particularly oblivious to any pro-female sentiment as he bounded up on stage, thanking his all-male posse, bro in tow, to accept his best actor award for “The Disaster Artist.”

He also typified the issue, when on Stephen Colbert a few days later, he attempted to walk the thin line between taking responsibility and denying all culpability.

“The things that I heard that were on Twitter are not accurate,” he insisted, looking suitably chastened by the raft of allegations against him.

“But I completely support people coming out and being able to have a voice. I don’t want to shut them down in any way.”

Ha, ha. So he fully supports the movement, evidenced by his prominently displayed “Time’s Up” pin, but the women accusing him of various sexual offences, clearly, are a bunch of bald-faced liars.

But if men were clued out to the revolutionary moment unfolding in front of their noses, the template for this year’s round of awards shows — which includes the Screen Actors Guild Awards (Jan. 21), Grammy Awards (Jan. 28) and Oscars (March 4) — has been clearly set. Among the new rules of play:

No two straight white men shall appear on the same stage at the same time unless buffeted by at least one woman. “Oh, please don’t be two white dudes!” deadpanned Globes host Seth Meyers as the first presenters, Gal Gadot and The Rock, strode to the mike.

Symbolic black gowns and suits adorned with “Time’s Up” lapel pins are a convenient way to avoid putting your money where your mouth is, or saying anything at all.

Statements like “words and actions can change the world” (Gary Oldman) and “I’m here tonight because of a group of extremely talented women” (Alexander Skarsgard) are good, non-specific ways to sound enlightened and empathetic without actually taking a stand.

Male award nominees concerned about optics will be strategically seated among adoring women who can vouch that, like Keith Urban (“I love you!”) and David E. Kelley (“our superhero!”), they’re one of the good guys.

Straight white males who host — pay attention, Jimmy Kimmel (Oscars) and James Corden (Grammys) — because, after all, it’s their birthright, will spend a sizeable portion of their monologue downplaying their privileged status and making tepid jokes about not being worthy.

“This is a new era and I can tell because it’s been years since a white man was this nervous in Hollywood,” trilled Meyers, veering between smugness and fear.

“I’m like the first dog they shot into outer space.”

The one thing I can’t imagine at future award ceremonies is a speech that could top Oprah’s, a gauntlet of emotional bravura that galvanized the room and defined a moment.

It’s a mountain that, simply put, can’t be ascended twice.

Unless, of course, it were to come from a man.