Google+ La hija adoptiva de Woody Allen, Dylan Farrow, relata en una carta sus supuestos abusos sexuales ~ Wicked Magazine

domingo, 2 de febrero de 2014

La hija adoptiva de Woody Allen, Dylan Farrow, relata en una carta sus supuestos abusos sexuales

MADRID, 2 febrero de 2014 (Europapress).- Cuando nadie lo esperaba, la hija de Woody Allen, Dylan Farrow, ha roto su silencio y ha acusado a su padre adoptivo de abusar de ella sexualmente cuando era una niña, en una carta abierta publicada en el blog del periodista del diario estadounidense 'The New York Times', Nicholas Kristof. Los presuntos abusos a su hija adoptiva salieron a la luz por primera vez en 1993, a raíz de la ruptura con Mia Farrow.

La carta comenzaba y terminaba con la misma frase "¿Cuál es tu película favorita de Woody Allen?". En ella relata alguno de los momentos de abuso que vivió y recrimina a Cate Blanchett, la protagonista de la última película del director, y a actrices como Diane Keaton y Scarlett Johansson que no le hayan dado importancia a estos hechos.

La carta contiene testimonios tan desagradables como el que hoy con 28 años relata "Cuando tenía siete años, Woody Allen me cogió de la mano y me llevó a un sombrío desván en la segunda planta de nuestra casa. Me dijo que me tumbara boca abajo y que jugara con el tren eléctrico de mi hermano. Entonces abusó de mí sexualmente. Él me hablaba mientras lo hacía, susurrándome que si era una buena chica, que si ese era nuestro secreto, me prometía que iríamos a París y me convertiría en una estrella de sus películas", la situación fue muy traumática para ella, tanto es así que todavía hoy, no puede ver los trenes de juguete.

"No recuerdo cuántas veces me llevaba lejos de mi madre, hermanos y amigos para estar solo con él. No me gustaba cuando metía su dedo pulgar en mi boca. No me gustaba que tuviera que ir a la cama con él bajo las sábanas cuando él estaba en ropa interior. No me gustaba que pusiera su cabeza sobre mi regazo desnudo e inhalara y exhalara", así relata Dylan la dura infancia que vivió al lado de Woody Allen.

La situación era tan común que la hija del director llegó a pensar que era un comportamiento normal de los padres, que todos se portaban igual con sus hijos.


Dylan se siente impotente ante la situación de que su padre no haya sido condenado a pesar de que existían "pruebas", y se siente muy desolada "por la culpa de permitir que (su padre) estuviera cerca de otras niñas". Pero no solo eso, si no que denuncia que llegó a ver médicos dispuestos "a hacer enloquecer con engaños a una niña maltratada".

Toda esta situación le ha provocado a la hija de Allen numerosos problemas y desajustes. Ella mismo confiesa que, debido a la popularidad del director,siempre que veía cualquier cosa que le recordaba a el " hallaba un sitio para estar sola y derrumbarse".

Dylan se refiere a muchas actrices de Hollywood con palabras muy duras, dolida por no haber recibido apoyo de ellas "¿Que habría pasado si hubiera sido tú hijo, Cata Blanchet, Louis CK (Louis Szekely), Alec Baldwin? ¿Y si hubieras sido tú, Emma Stone? ¿O tú, Scarlett Johansson? Tú me conociste cuando era una niña pequeña, Diane Keaton. ¿Me has olvidado?".

La figura de Allen, siempre ha estado rodeada de rumores sobre abusos sexuales, pero nunca se le culpó de ningún cargo. Ahora esta carta de su hija adoptiva, destapa la caja de los truenos "Woody Allen es el vivo testamento de la forma en la que la sociedad falla a los supervivientes de abusos y violaciones sexuales", concluía.


La carta completa (en ingles) retomada integra de The New York Times

FEBRUARY 1, 2014, 3:04 PM :

An Open Letter From Dylan Farrow


What’s your favorite Woody Allen movie? Before you answer, you should know: when I was seven years old, Woody Allen took me by the hand and led me into a dim, closet-like attic on the second floor of our house. He told me to lay on my stomach and play with my brother’s electric train set. Then he sexually assaulted me. He talked to me while he did it, whispering that I was a good girl, that this was our secret, promising that we’d go to Paris and I’d be a star in his movies. I remember staring at that toy train, focusing on it as it traveled in its circle around the attic. To this day, I find it difficult to look at toy trains.

For as long as I could remember, my father had been doing things to me that I didn’t like. I didn’t like how often he would take me away from my mom, siblings and friends to be alone with him. I didn’t like it when he would stick his thumb in my mouth. I didn’t like it when I had to get in bed with him under the sheets when he was in his underwear. I didn’t like it when he would place his head in my naked lap and breathe in and breathe out. I would hide under beds or lock myself in the bathroom to avoid these encounters, but he always found me. These things happened so often, so routinely, so skillfully hidden from a mother that would have protected me had she known, that I thought it was normal. I thought this was how fathers doted on their daughters. But what he did to me in the attic felt different. I couldn’t keep the secret anymore.

When I asked my mother if her dad did to her what Woody Allen did to me, I honestly did not know the answer. I also didn’t know the firestorm it would trigger. I didn’t know that my father would use his sexual relationship with my sister to cover up the abuse he inflicted on me. I didn’t know that he would accuse my mother of planting the abuse in my head and call her a liar for defending me. I didn’t know that I would be made to recount my story over and over again, to doctor after doctor, pushed to see if I’d admit I was lying as part of a legal battle I couldn’t possibly understand. At one point, my mother sat me down and told me that I wouldn’t be in trouble if I was lying – that I could take it all back. I couldn’t. It was all true. But sexual abuse claims against the powerful stall more easily. There were experts willing to attack my credibility. There were doctors willing to gaslight an abused child.

After a custody hearing denied my father visitation rights, my mother declined to pursue criminal charges, despite findings of probable cause by the State of Connecticut – due to, in the words of the prosecutor, the fragility of the “child victim.” Woody Allen was never convicted of any crime. That he got away with what he did to me haunted me as I grew up. I was stricken with guilt that I had allowed him to be near other little girls. I was terrified of being touched by men. I developed an eating disorder. I began cutting myself. That torment was made worse by Hollywood. All but a precious few (my heroes) turned a blind eye. Most found it easier to accept the ambiguity, to say, “who can say what happened,” to pretend that nothing was wrong. Actors praised him at awards shows. Networks put him on TV. Critics put him in magazines. Each time I saw my abuser’s face – on a poster, on a t-shirt, on television – I could only hide my panic until I found a place to be alone and fall apart.

Last week, Woody Allen was nominated for his latest Oscar. But this time, I refuse to fall apart. For so long, Woody Allen’s acceptance silenced me. It felt like a personal rebuke, like the awards and accolades were a way to tell me to shut up and go away. But the survivors of sexual abuse who have reached out to me – to support me and to share their fears of coming forward, of being called a liar, of being told their memories aren’t their memories – have given me a reason to not be silent, if only so others know that they don’t have to be silent either.

Today, I consider myself lucky. I am happily married. I have the support of my amazing brothers and sisters. I have a mother who found within herself a well of fortitude that saved us from the chaos a predator brought into our home.

But others are still scared, vulnerable, and struggling for the courage to tell the truth. The message that Hollywood sends matters for them.

What if it had been your child, Cate Blanchett? Louis CK? Alec Baldwin? What if it had been you, Emma Stone? Or you, Scarlett Johansson? You knew me when I was a little girl, Diane Keaton. Have you forgotten me?

Woody Allen is a living testament to the way our society fails the survivors of sexual assault and abuse.

So imagine your seven-year-old daughter being led into an attic by Woody Allen. Imagine she spends a lifetime stricken with nausea at the mention of his name. Imagine a world that celebrates her tormenter.

Are you imagining that? Now, what’s your favorite Woody Allen movie?