Sunday, February 14, 2016

Canada: Crazy woman falsely accuses man

The revenge of a rejected woman, apparently.  Another case of strange prosecutorial judgment in bringing the matter to trial.  Is a mere accusation enough to go to court?

Sometime today, if the world according to Lucy DeCoutere unfolds as it should, Marie Henein will get some flowers.  They’ll be from DeCoutere, of course, with a note maybe saying, “You kicked my butt yesterday; can we hang soon?”

This — sending flowers to and love-bombing those who have hurt you, not to mention handed your ass to you on a platter — is what DeCoutere would have Ontario Court Judge William Horkins believe she does, that it’s her thing to be particularly nice to people who are mean to her.  She calls this “flattening out my negative.”

It was, as it turns out, just this Thursday, shortly before she stepped into the witness box, that DeCoutere for the very first time told Toronto Police and Crown prosecutors Mike Callaghan and Corie Langdon that after Ghomeshi allegedly choked her and slapped her hard in the summer of 2003, she sent him flowers when she got back home to Halifax.

Through one sworn police statement, 19 media interviews and four press releases she issued in the 16 months since the scandal involving the former CBC host broke, DeCoutere had never before mentioned the flowers, or a plethora of other things, such as her repeated attempts to meet Ghomeshi in what could be fairly called her pursuit of him.

Only in Henein’s cross-examination Friday did that timing become clear; DeCoutere, being a capable actor (she starred on Trailer Park Boys), had mentioned it in her examination-in-chief so smoothly it sounded as though she’d always been up front about it.

And as the judge learned, there was even more to it than that.

DeCoutere was love-bombing the 48-year-old Ghomeshi too, in the weeks and months after the purported assault.

It was on July 4, 2003 that DeCoutere claims Ghomeshi, while she was at his house, suddenly kissed her, put his hand on her throat and cut off her air, and slapped her hard three times across the face.

But the next day, she emailed him, told him he was “literally changing my mind — in a good way I think” and challenging her, then said, “You kicked my ass last night and that makes me want to f— your brains out. Tonight.”

Now, this is fairly unequivocal stuff, not requiring vast amounts of interpretation one would have thought, but DeCoutere equivocated nonetheless.

“OK,” she said.

“Mr. Ghomeshi and I never had sex … this makes me look like I had an interest in him romantically … no way was it ‘I-liked-it-when-you-choked-me,’ no way. I wrote the email. I don’t remember writing it, but regardless Mr. Ghomeshi choked me with no consent … slapped me with no consent. This doesn’t change the fact that he assaulted me.”

After a bit of back and forth, Henein said, “What happened was, there was no sexual assault.  “You had an evening and the next day you wanted to f— his brains out.”

“I remember being attracted to Mr. Ghomeshi,” DeCoutere said, “but it doesn’t change the fact that women can be assaulted by men and still…”

Henein was marching back to the witness box again, another document in her hand, the tapping of her heels on the floor the only sound in the room.

It was the 25th time this day she made that terrifying little walk. This was exhibit No. 37; the first exhibit of the day was No. 12.

“Do you remember the love letter you sent?” she asked.  She handed DeCoutere the six-page, handwritten original, dated July 9, 2003, five days after Ghomeshi allegedly choked and slapped her.

She confirmed it was her handwriting. She had no memory of writing it, she said, but clearly, she had done.

When she penned it, she was back home in Halifax, safe and sound.

DeCoutere stands by sex assault allegations against Ghomeshi: 'There is no right or wrong way to cope'

It’s a chick’s letter, with TMI in the modern lexicon, confessional and self-analytical, the written equivalent of ‘what are you thinking about?’

It began with an ode to old-fashioned letters, and then told the tale of their ‘relationship,’ from first spotting him at a Banff conference, his popularity, her trip to Toronto just to see him, and, a few lines without any noticeable irony, “We hooked up for dinner and you totally knocked me out. No wonder I couldn’t eat anything. You scared the hell out of me. Either because you were reading my mind or asking me to read it for you.

“I mean, really, what on Earth could be better than lying with you listening to music & having peace. Nothing.”

On and on it went. “I loved spending time with you this weekend. You are hilarious. And I really loved seeing you becoming progressively more relaxed (with) me.”

DeCoutere concluded, “Jian. You’re great. And I want to know more, have more easy times with you because it is so very rare — right?… I am sad we didn’t spend the night together…”

And then, the last line, the line Henein had DeCoutere herself read aloud, “I love your hands.”

“So,” DeCoutere began.

“It (the assault) never happened,” Henein said flatly.

“Oh, it happened,” said DeCoutere.

“You love his hands; you tell him you want to f— his brains out,” Henein snapped. “You never told the police, the Crown, you were never going to tell His Honour until it was shown to you.”

“I never told His Honour until now,” DeCoutere said.

There was a brief re-examination, during which DeCoutere tried to explain the letter. “Yes, this letter exists,” she said. “It does say, it’s very candid, there’s no untruth in this letter… The last line is me pointing love to the very thing he used to hurt me (his hands) …This letter exists. I totally forgot about it. I guess I wanted to forget about it.”

But it wasn’t her “negative” she had flattened; it was her narrative.

Original report here

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