Last week, Pete Townshend, the former guitarist and songwriter for the Who, made big news in London because he was arrested on suspicion of possessing child pornography. He was one of 1,300 people arrested in Britain on a nationwide sting, although he has yet to be formally charged. The others include a judge, dentists, doctors and police officers.
A few days later, Utah Attorney General Mark Shurtleff announced he was doing away with the office of obscenity and pornography complaints ombudsman, better known to all of you as the "porn czar."
Was this because Utahns, unlike the Brits, no longer have a problem with child pornography? Hardly. The porn czar, Paula Houston, is prosecuting 15 cases at the moment, with many more to come. The worldwide pornography tidal wave rolls on even here.
No, this was an unfortunate matter of economics. Shurtleff had to cut $750,000 from his office last year, and he's facing another $750,000 in cuts this year.
Let's be honest. In reality, the state doesn't need a porn czar to prosecute pornography and child sexual-abuse cases. Plenty of city, county and state prosecutors could do that. But the symbolism is what counted here. The office was a rallying point, like the flag. Utah was the only state with a porn czar. That meant it was visibly dedicated to stamping out a problem that is a growing concern worldwide. It was a leader.
Now it looks to all the world like the porn czar was a failed experiment. That's simply not true. Yesterday marked three years since the office was established. In that time, it has investigated 360 cases, arrested more than 120 people and, as of last Tuesday, won 72 convictions on cases ranging from the possession of child pornography to trolling the Internet for under-age sex partners. Paul Murphy, the attorney general's spokesman, said that represents a 100 percent conviction rate. In other words, the office convicted every single person it had enough evidence to charge.
And yet Houston has spent nearly all of her three years having to live with critics who marginalized her work. As with most things in this state, she became a religious issue from the start because of her membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Salt Lake Tribune wondered whether she would "form a mailbox-peeping force to ferret out those adults subscribing to Playboy." An editorial suggested she was concerned with "risque underwear ads."
In one of the strangest examples of "unbiased" journalism in recent years, the Tribune's news pages reported that Houston was a virgin, and reporters interviewed several people on the question of whether this should disqualify her. The very premise behind that question — that sex and illegal pornography are related — was the logical equivalent of a taffy-pull.
Then there was her unofficial title. A czar is an autocrat who imposes his or her will on others by fiat. Neither Houston nor Shurtleff chose the name, but it stuck, even though it dripped with heavy connotations.
In truth, Houston never peeped anywhere after Playboys. She didn't care about underwear ads and she didn't make law. Even civil libertarians admit she did good work. She made it clear that nudity could be presented in a variety of acceptable ways — as art, or for scientific demonstrations. She spent a great deal of time educating the public, even as she served as a resource for parents and victims and an investigator of crimes.
The office was not a failure. But once it disappears in April, what will become of the state's fight against pornography and predators? Surely, the people trolling the Internet aren't about to give up. They're as easy to find as candy at a Valentine's party.
Murphy illustrates this by recalling a press conference the attorney general held after the Legislature passed a tough law against Internet crimes. In the corner, an investigator sat at a computer terminal, away from all the commotion. In the time it took to hold the press conference, he had gone online, posed as a 13-year-old girl in a chat room and received five separate solicitations for sex.
Forget about reading "Little Red Riding Hood" to your children as a fairy tale. There are plenty of real wolves out there in disguises, waiting for an opportunity to pounce.
They aren't all rock legends. Most are just regular-looking folks with unspeakably evil appetites and with unprecedented access to the kinds of pictures that make them hungry. What a shame that the state no longer can wave a flag to the world that signals we won't tolerate this stuff.
Jay Evensen is editor of the Deseret News editorial page. E-mail: even@desnews.com