AS the tornado of sexual abuse allegations sweeping the west gathers momentum, icons are toppling all around. Almost every day another figurehead is brought crashing down, like the statue of Saddam Hussein in Baghdad. Learning the names of those accused of offences two or three decades ago, one is not particularly surprised. Famous men have always enjoyed a sense of entitlement that in earlier periods was expressed as droit de seigneur. Hearing the steady drip-drip of allegations against this ever-growing army of creeps is like watching a thaw, as the victims, frozen by years of fear or self-loathing, finally dare to speak. There is, if not satisfaction, at least a sense of gradual righting of wrongs, of adjusting the scales until the balance of power comes close to level.

But how disheartening to find Catherine Deneuve among the disgraced. This was one star whose downfall we could not have predicted. The post-war face of sophisticated, sensual, independent French womanhood, she dared admit to having an abortion before it was legal, while her role as Belle de Jour, a housewife seeking thrills as well as money in prostitution, showed courage in tackling taboos. Hers is the least likely scalp to have been taken in what is becoming an increasingly acrimonious campaign.

Deneuve’s crime was to add her name to a letter signed by 100 Frenchwomen denouncing the American #MeToo campaign – and its French counterpart #BalanceTonPorc (Squeal on your pig) as puritanical and unjust to men whose only fault was being inept or slow on the uptake. Deneuve has made a heartfelt apology, reminding her accusers that the letter in no way condoned sexual harassment or abuse. Unfortunately, among the other signatories was one who claimed that it was possible for a woman to orgasm during rape. As a result, Deneuve was tarred by association.

Chagrined, the actress has distanced herself from this unhelpful statement, yet she still stands accused of being out of touch with young women today. Which may very well be true. Meanwhile, Margaret Atwood, with typical gutsiness, has thrown herself into the fray, writing that the destruction of men’s reputations without allowing them a proper judicial procedure does feminism’s cause no good. Cue a backlash from twitterers, one of whom implied that Atwood, and all women who have made a name for themselves, have done so by ignoring the abuse and oppression of less fortunate women. You can probably imagine Atwood’s response.

As the argument seems set to become a slug-fest worthy of Djokovic and Murray, the only thing that is abundantly clear is a deepening generational rift. Where once feminism was black and white, now it is less clear-cut. It is becoming like the Labour Party, where it’s possible to believe or not believe in Brexit, or Scottish independence, or renationalisation, or curbing immigration. The consequence of accommodating a tapas board of ideas, of course, is ferret-like and unedifying in-fighting.

Given the variety of interpretations of what is and is not acceptable behaviour in men, we are now witnessing several feminist shades of grey. There was always, of course, a militant, man-hating wing, born in the Suffragette era and continued into our own times. But there has never been anything quite like the bewilderingly complex atmosphere of political correctness under which society now operates. Personally, I agree with the French signatories, that making a pass which can be rebuffed is not harassment, and that treating women as so fragile that they cannot stand up for themselves – in ordinary, safe situations – is the opposite of what feminism is about.

Unfortunately, being reasonable, a state of mind that comes with advanced years and experience, carries no urgency or passion. So while my feelings entirely echo Atwood’s, it is hard not to sympathise with those behind #MeToo, and #BalanceTonPorc. Their fury, ignited by learning how unfair the world has been, long before they were born, is stoked by fear that it might remain so if they do not shout loudly enough.

When you consider the scale of abuse, how often, how grubbily or terrifyingly it has operated in every rung of society and every institution in every year since time began, you begin to understand how the fightback has reached the all-embracing, unforgiving pitch it is at today.

Every revolution deals in extremes. Otherwise, nothing would change. Without the scale of protest raised over the Hollywood scandal, would Olympic gymnast Simone Biles have dared accuse her team’s doctor of sexual abuse? Even with support, it took courage.

In this volatile climate, rather than squabbling feminists must learn from each other. The wisdom of elders should not be thrown away simply because they do not see eye to eye with upcoming generations. Nor should those of us with decades of ideological conviction under our elasticated waistbands deride the fresher views and different experiences of women at the frontline. In all of this, the watchword should be justice, for men as well as women, for guilty as well as accused. Because without equality of treatment for everyone, which is the essence of our cause, the game is as good as lost.