After a ponderous amount of research, I decided to write a book about “the Ken and Barbie Killers”, Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka. And people often ask me, why this case ?
As with any high-profile legal matter, conspiracy theories abound, and the lure of conspiracy theories is that since one can never be certain, one could always be correct. But beyond the lurid and murky details, one thing is assured; it is, unfortunately, a precedent which cloaked the truth about the crimes of Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka since long before their commission.
I spoke with a man recently, a member of the media attendant at the trial, and he wonders “who Karla got to, who needed to keep her free and protect her, and what she touched that gave her such power”. His questions disturbed me on a level both primal and feminine at once, some inner sanctum housing the very answers that he seeks. Not the legal, or political ones he may expect—that is merely surface, protecting us from a truth most women are reluctant to admit. And judging from the case of Paul and Karla, men who are aware of it find it more unnerving than women do.
“Learned helplessness” is a psychological term, sometimes used to describe a facet of battered women’s syndrome; it typifies a woman so beaten down, physically and/or psychologically, she learns her survival is ensured by pathological passivity and compliance. A few women have found this more advantageous in reverse: these are the women who intuitively see a quieter but more insidious power to be gained from feigning helplessness and compliance. They’ve learned it keeps some men forever in their debt, and forever wondering when the time will come for debt collection. Some women are beaten into constant foresight; some women are only capable of foresight.
Like men who only choose trophy-wives, certain women choose their mates the way some tattoo shoppers choose bad ass tattoos. Once the investment’s made, these women eagerly attend to tattoo care and maintenance. Since a faded bad ass tattoo is an unflattering reflection, there’s always tattoo removal, but if fading starts too soon, the woman who would sport a really bad ass tattoo wouldn’t hesitate to ask for her money back.
Certainly Paul and Karla were tattoos for each other, and even this couple from hell had unwritten laws and unspoken rules: I give you this, you give me that, as all couples do. But women who wear men like bad ass tattoos won’t live in the permanent ducking position of the battered wife; they have grander vistas in mind than learned helplessness allows. Certain bad ass designs are chosen for highly specific reasons, but the overriding concern is to determine which man is least likely to fade out in the end. This of course requires experience and strength, and while she may have lacked experience, Karla Homolka was able to play to her strength simply because she had never been without it.
So who did Karla get to? Men. Who needed to keep her free and protect her? Men. Which person did she touch to obtain her power? Some man, somewhere.
There’s an old joke that goes:
Did you find what you were looking for?
Yeah, and it was in the last place I looked.
The answers about Karla Homolka are in the first place we look. Then we use words like “enigma” because what we’ve found seems unthinkable. The men who gave Karla her power, who protected her and kept her free, weren’t evil men; in great conspiracies everyone only has a piece of the entire answer, but in the greatest conspiracies, everyone has all of the answer-and it’s so starkly simple everyone thinks it must be wrong, so everyone keeps looking.
The uniquely Canadian influences on the Bernardo/Homolka affair probably escape the notice of most American true-crime buffs; the feminist movement got its foothold in Canada and the U.S. at roughly the same time. But Canada is far more progressive than we are—and less predisposed to pissing contests. Just having a good pissing contest colors much of our government’s decision-making process, as avoiding one color’s much of Canada’s. Both countries have made strides with regard to women’s rights issues. But after factoring in the different forms of government we are, more money is spent on domestic violence programs in Canada than in the U.S, which, given the particulars of the Bernardo/Homolka tale, is a grand little piece of irony.
As angry as Karla Homolka’s plea bargain with the Crown made and still makes people, to spend the time and money to reverse it all and reveal its bottom-line thinking to a horde of angry marching feminists was simply not worth it. Not when the much more cost-effective publications ban could be issued.
Simple. Mercenary. And sexist, and I can’t help wondering if ex-Price Waterhouse accountant, smuggler and serial rapist Paul Bernardo appreciated the irony of it all.
The logical conclusion of what defines a movement is always the polar opposite of the movement’s source, and human nature being what it is, Charles Manson’s “family” and its Helter Skelter philosophy was the logical conclusion of the 60’s counterculture movement. The 70’s ushered in the women’s liberation movement, and the notion that women are as capable as men began to gain some ground. But the “equal pay for equal work” mantra is still an idea in its infancy. And unfortunately, Karla Homolka is the logical conclusion of radical feminism.
The counterculture movement brought us Manson, as the feminist movement brought us Homolka. Both of them exploiters of ideals, and of women. When it suited her goals, Homolka made good use of the best that traditional expectations of women offer, and then proceeded to reap the benefits of a feminist stance she perverted into victimization. For all the hype and hysteria surrounding both Bernardo and Manson as evil spell-binders of women, it’s Manson whose female devotees took the longest to leave his side. Karla was only fleeing her king, of course, and to his followers, Charlie was Jesus Christ. But not for a moment do I believe that Ms. Homolka sees herself on a continuum with Susan Atkins or Squeaky Fromme.
It’s been said that toward the end of the Bernardo-Homolka union, Paul Bernardo began to “disassemble”; so did every other man connected to this case upon realizing the bad ass tattoo wasn’t simply false advertising, and must be reconciled with its petite blond owner. If this seems harsh or overly simplistic, ask anyone who’s seen Paul and Karla’s video library why her motive and involvement are still hotly debated topics; ask someone involved in the investigation why “the deal with the devil” didn’t shatter like cheap glass once it was obvious Homolka violated its terms; ask any man why Bernardo’s role and motive in this nightmare is taken for granted; ask yourself if you don’t hear Victorian death-throes in the wedding of the words “compliant” and “victim”.
Men like Paul Bernardo are made more dangerous by our need to purify women like Karla Homolka.
This idea we’re modern thinkers is the delusional comfort of every age, but given too large a threat, we’re constructed to revert to the fight-or-flight instinct. In true modern-thinking fashion, I’m certain no man involved with the Bernardo-Homolka case would deny a woman advancement; that we’re doctors, engineers, and judges, is rightfully viewed as laudable. That we can also be found in the male-dominated world of homicidal sexual psychopathy and that we’re capable of the same moral decline is so threatening a notion some people prefer handing us an apron and scooting us back into the kitchen. The simple truth that never seems to come full circle is that whoever does the cooking also chooses the recipe.
The point is not that a majority, or that even a good number of women are so treacherous; there are some who find themselves lost in cycles of abuse and are never quite sure why. But that is not our Karla, and coincidence seems an unlikely explanation as to why she was only able to summon the strength to leave the marital home after Bernardo began his breakdown.
For some readers my comments may invoke the image of a violin playing for Paul Bernardo, but it should be noted that we certainly would have snorted in unison if Bernardo had insisted he had been the victim of Homolka.
In the end, we settled for the comfort of a fairy-tale: an evil prince, a helpless maiden, and two images from childhood is the way it’s still portrayed. All that talk and all that time spent leveling out the playing field, for modern men and women in a modern world—only to run and hide inside a fairy-tale at the first real sign of danger. We tell ourselves it’s justifiable, in the end; it banished the evil prince to his prison castle turret. But the story of Paul and Karla isn’t a fairy-tale—and we’re not little children anymore…
Unlike the man I spoke with who attended the Bernardo/Homolka trial, I have no more questions about Karla. I’m certain I know who and what she is. But I do not need to know the animal before me poised and ready to strike is called a “viper”, to understand the degree of harm it’s likely capable of causing.
I chose to write about this case because we’re lacking a satisfactory answer as to what to do with its legacy; I chose it because the woman who held an anesthetic-soaked rag over her sister’s face now rocks a cradle. For men and women alike, that is a bitter pill to swallow. But if one must take poison it is always prudent to take it in small doses over time, and have a chance at immunity–like Karla.
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