The decision to free Roman Polanski is a wise decision. It honors the people who took it. It shows that the arguments developed by the movie director's partisans -- including those published on the French review's website of La Règle du Jeu -- have finally been fruitful. It shows that Polanski's French lawyers, Hervé Témime and Georges Kiejman, were right to remain tenacious. At this very moment, I am thinking about Emmanuelle, his wife. I am thinking about his two kids who saw their dad's name ignominiously dragged through the mud. I am mostly thinking about him: Roman Polanski, who I don't know, but whose fate has moved me so much. Nothing will repair the days he has spent in prison. Nothing will erase the immense, unbelievable injustice he has been subjected to. Nothing will take away the hysteria of those ones who have never stopped pouring contempt upon him, hounding him through hatred and asking for his punishment as if we were living the darkest and most ferocious hours of the McCarthy era all over again. At least the nightmare is about to end. At least the end of the hell is looming. And this, for the time being, is what does matter.
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