The lead plaintiff in the class-action lawsuit against Harvey Weinstein, our client Louisette Geiss, first went public about the sexual harassment she endured from Hollywood’s notorious sexual predator. She and five other women bravely chose to call out Weinstein for his systemic abuse, taking their stories to the courtroom in a fight for anyone who had suffered the same.
Shortly after news of Harvey Weinstein’s rampant sexual harassment, assault, battery and rape went public, a Miramax producer, Scott Rosenberg, corroborated the stories of Weinstein’s victims in a since-deleted Facebook post, the text of which was captured below.
One year ago, these brave women took a stand and took back their power.
So, uh, yeah. We need to talk about Harvey. I was there, for a big part of it. From, what, 1994 to the early 2000s? Something like that. Certainly The Golden Age. The “PULP FICTION”, “SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE”, “CLERKS”, “SWINGERS”, “SCREAM”, “GOOD WILL HUNTING”, “ENGLISH PATIENT”, “LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL” years… So, yeah, I was there. And let me tell you one thing. Let’s be perfectly clear about one thing: Everybody-fucking-knew.…we were aware of a certain pattern of overly-aggressive behavior that was rather dreadful. We knew about the man’s hunger; his fervor; his appetite.
There was nothing secret about this voracious rapacity; like a gluttonous ogre out of the Brothers Grimm. All couched in vague promises of potential movie roles. But like I said: everybody-fucking-knew. …And to me, if Harvey’s behavior is the most reprehensible thing one can imagine, a not-so-distant second is the current flood of sanctimonious denial and condemnation that now crashes upon these shores of rectitude in gloppy tides of bullshit righteousness. Because everybody-fucking-knew. And do you know how I am sure this is true? Because I was there. And I saw you. And I talked about it with you. You, the big producers; you, the big directors; you, the big agents; you, the big financiers. I saw you. All of you. God help me, I was there with you. “So what if he was coming on a little strong to some young models who had moved mountains to get into one of his parties? So what if he was exposing himself, in five-star hotel rooms, like a cartoon flasher out of “MAD MAGAZINE” (just swap robe for raincoat!) Who were we to call foul? Golden Geese don’t come along too often in one’s life.
Which goes back to my original point: Everybody-fucking-knew. But everybody was just having too good a time.
But you should be sorry, too. With all these victims speaking up… To tell their tales. Shouldn’t those who witnessed it from the sidelines do the same? Instead of retreating to the cowardly, canopied confines of faux-outrage? Doesn’t being a bystander bring with it the responsibility of telling the truth, however personally disgraceful it may be? You know who you are. You know that you knew. And do you know how I know that you knew? Because I was there with you.
And because everybody-fucking-knew.
