Punishing Trump For Bill’s Unpunished Predations

Well, would you look at that? Just days before the election, a brave woman has stepped forward to announce that Donald J. Trump, our commander in crime, raped her.

How horrid. Let us review the account of this then-24-year-old Swiss model, invited to the Donald J. Trump American Dream Pageant in New York City in 1993, where she inevitably crossed paths with her insidious attacker.

Beatrice Keul says the future president summoned her to a suite at the Plaza Hotel before the show, tore her dress, and left her with “bleeding and bruising on multiple parts of her body.” Keul described the rape as “brutal.”

What a piece of… wait. Where have I heard that name before? Beatrice Keul. Is this the same woman who, two years ago almost to the day, alleged that Trump “groped” her in that very same Plaza Hotel?

October 30, 2024:  

He kissed me on the lips and on the neck. He tried to lift my dress. He was grabbing and touching my body everywhere he could,” Keul said. Trump, she claimed, then held her hand, kissed her, and asked if she wanted to drink something and sit down. Wondering how she could extricate herself from the situation, Keul decided to be nice and they talked for about 30 minutes…

Incredible. Or, as the Swiss say, unglaublich. Two years later and her story has changed completely. Maybe she simply reclassified the incident as rape, because liberal feminists have changed the definition entirely. These days, consensual kissing, touching, or sex, sober or drunk, can be retroactively branded rape, provided the woman regrets it.

The initial allegation arose just as dubiously, less than a week before the 2024 presidential election. She withheld the accusation for thirty years, and it surfaced only when a move led her to a box of old travel documents from that trip, which stirred unnerving memories that seem to morph and muddy over time.

The Independent could at least have tried to cover its tracks by deleting the original “October Surprise.” A surprise that failed to spark sufficient outrage, so the ante had to be upped. Groping? Too mundane. Let’s try the R-word this time.

It’s funny: as I read Dinesh D’Souza’s “Hillary’s America,” I can’t help but notice that outrage is reserved for one party’s color of politician. You never saw this libelmania from the progressive news vanguard when Bill Clinton was ushering a revolving door of young women into the People’s House, defiling the Oval Office with his “Presidential c**,” as the New York Observer put it in 1998.

You never heard accounts of Bill’s assaults on women unless they were perfectly curated and polished by the Clintons beforehand. Take Juanita Broaddrick, who alleged that then-Arkansas Attorney General Bill Clinton raped her in a hotel room in 1978. She stayed quiet for years, she says, after Hillary approached her at a fundraiser and whispered what Broaddrick took as a threat to keep silent. When she finally sat for an interview with NBC’s Lisa Myers, the network refused to air it until Bill’s impeachment trial ended.

Or take Gennifer Flowers, who had an affair with Bill, which he lied about. She had tapes of the involvement, which made her especially dangerous to the charade that was the Clintons, and presumably why, she alleges, unknown culprits broke into her apartment and ransacked it in search of that evidence, while investigators asked her roommates whether she was suicidal. Media coverage was largely confined to a staged “60 Minutes” interview with the Clintons, conducted “as a favor” to manage the backlash.

You never heard the outcry from the virulent vanguard when Paula Jones, an Arkansas state employee, alleged that then-Governor Clinton exposed himself to her and made advances in a hotel room in 1991. Or how it was settled with an $850,000 check, drawn partly from a blind trust in Hillary’s name, to hush the woman James Carville had cast as trailer-park trash. 

You never heard of Kathleen Willey, a White House volunteer who alleged unwanted advances and groping by President Clinton in his office in 1993. Or how, in the aftermath, she says, her children were threatened by Hillary’s detectives, her cat was killed or kidnapped, a skull was left on her porch, and she was followed and intimidated into silence.

Meanwhile, Trump’s alleged victims have no qualms about popping up like gophers the minute an election rolls around.

Melania must not have that same terrifying effect as Bill’s First Lackey Lady, who compounded the humiliation by branding the women “trash” or “whores” whom “nobody [would] believe.”

I could go on. Name the politician. But it’s bewildering to read of Hillary’s husband’s unspoken actions, and of the inaction of Hillary herself, her “feminist” friends, and the media. But it wasn’t merely inaction. It was enabling. In 1998, journalist Nina Burleigh wrote told the Washington Post she would happily thank Clinton with oral sex for keeping abortion legal, and that women should show their gratitude to the president with their “presidential kneepads on.”

Maybe the faux feminists regret this era. Maybe the media feels guilt. Which is why it now feels almost as if they’re punishing Donald Trump for the unpunished crimes of Bill Clinton.

Forgive us for not believing all women, all the time, when for years the progressive elite didn’t bat an eye because they liked the predator.