That a very high-ranking diplomat from the world of soccer lives in check because he has planted a non-consensual kiss on the lips of a world champion is an undeniable success for feminism. We owe it, primarily and above all, to the tenacity of women in demanding free will (and consent) in everything that concerns their bodies. This cultural transformation would never have been led by men who, even today, too often dismiss contact with a woman's body like Jennifer Hermoso's with a "it's not a big deal" or, worse, by stating that the girl didn't seem so offended when it happened. Many say that this is sad news because it has overshadowed the Spanish triumph in the World Cup: I would say that Rubiales' resignation is an even more important headline than such a milestone, as it certifies that women are not content with excellence, but will demand decision-making power.
As you can imagine, I have no problem losing sight of a sports official who celebrates a victory by grabbing his crotch in front of many authorities and television viewers around the world. However, perhaps due to a certain Judeo-Christian hangover, I am also not a fan of public stonings and so many people who uncritically assume Rubiales' condition as a harasser with the "bro-science" argument that, if he is capable of doing these types of things in plain sight, in private he must be a real monster. I'm sorry, I don't buy into the addictive sport of speculation, especially if it involves imputing crimes with very high prison sentences so lightly. And, since we're being old-fashioned, I also opt for something as simple as forgiveness; in a world where everyone seems more virtuous than the Virgin Mary, I like to remember that we all have smelly feces.
That we all screw up sometimes, come on. Rubiales brought it upon himself, first with imperfect apologies and then with an exculpatory speech in which he perpetrated that sexist and foolish thing of reminding women what authentic feminism is (curious are the people for whom everything "authentic" or "true," lo and behold, usually coincides with their own thinking). But that doesn't matter, because now the hyper-speed in evaluating a news story rules, and, ultimately, the popular tribunal lives in compulsion to dictate a sentence on any matter (even, as happened here, before having the small detail of listening to the affected parties). This amendment does not excuse the seriousness of Rubiales' error, nor how it betrays the testosterone-fueled morality of football power with women. But I also equally dread the omnivorous power of the popular tribunal.
However imperfect our justice may be, it will always be more benign than stoning on Twitter and the visceral nature of networks in general. I know that asking for all parties to be heard and for matters to be investigated before issuing a judgment on a fact is, nowadays, a temerity as daring as allowing the elderly to occupy the subway seats designated for their broken health. The dictatorship of the popular tribunal is dangerous (and look, on this issue, I fully agree with the portrait of the individual in question and with the desire to lose sight of him), especially because in the sentence of the public trial I discern the same factual clairvoyance as in religious visions. I am scared of a world where everyone has things so clear that it's no longer worth asking about anything and in which everyone shits perfume and dictates moral sentences with papal immunity, as if popular opinion were always the most accurate.
I hope Rubiales leaves soon, but I fear that the omnipresence of the popular tribunal will be a norm that we accept more and more every day and in an absolutely uncritical way. It seems that we live in a world full of angels where mistakes are never made and where anyone is the perfect judge. We will have to remember that too when our respective sentence comes.