Speaking Truth to Power (28 page)

V
ermont Senator Patrick Leahy’s thirty minutes of questioning focused on the FBI interrogation of my claim and the charges that the report was inconsistent with my opening statement. He wanted to know “what happened,” but also why what happened was wrong—outside the realm of acceptable behavior for the workplace. Finally, he tackled the question “Why did you wait” to report the behavior? Once again I explained that I had always chosen the best way I knew to deal with the situation both while I worked for Thomas and later, when the Senate staffer approached me and asked about the behavior. Having dealt
with the harassment, having dealt with the lack of process for investigation of the information, having dealt with the pre-hearing campaign, I was now having to deal with an irreparably flawed proceeding whose purpose was to investigate the claims. But even when the chairman announced that he planned to adhere to standard rules such as those regarding the relevancy of information, members would soon deviate from them.

As Senator Specter continued his questioning in the afternoon, he raised the affidavit of John Doggett, a law school friend of Clarence Thomas and a passing acquaintance of mine from Washington, D.C. At the beginning of the hearing Senator Biden had announced: “Certain subjects were simply irrelevant to the issue of harassment, namely, the private conduct, out of the workplace relationships, and intimate lives and practices of Judge Thomas, Professor Hill and any other witness that comes before us.” The Republicans used this rule to protect Judge Thomas from the release of information about his habit of viewing pornographic material as well as his habit of describing what he had viewed in vivid detail to friends and colleagues. Nevertheless, the committee dispensed with the rule where it was convenient, allowing ready admission of manufactured information about my own personal social life.

Perhaps the best example of the breach of Biden’s announced relevancy rule came in the affidavit and testimony of John Doggett. Nowhere was Senator Metzenbaum’s warning about opening the proceeding to “all sorts of sworn statements” more warranted than during Doggett’s testimony. Specter avoided the question of its admissibility as part of the hearing record in a way both sinister and unethical, as it had been distributed to the president, the press, and the public even before the entire committee was allowed to see it. Specter questioned me on the affidavit before I had ever seen it, though I would learn that within his statement, Doggett offered a theory about my mental state during the time I worked for Clarence Thomas. And despite Doggett’s lack of professional credentials as a psychoanalyst, the senators not only publicized it but called me to account for it. Considering that he based his assessment
on only two exchanges, the very idea is shocking. Biden’s rules regarding competence and relevance of information had gone out the window.

Doggett’s theory proposed that I had fantasized about a relationship with him. And when he heard about my charge against Judge Thomas, he deduced that it must have been born of the trouble he felt I’d had establishing relationships with men. Finally, Doggett concluded that what he had diagnosed as my mental instability caused me to send an affidavit to the Senate staff working on the confirmation hearing. Doggett’s reasoning was flawed at every step. During his testimony he recited many details of his résumé, but nowhere was there a reference to expertise in conducting psychological evaluations. Moreover, he showed himself to lack any objectivity in evaluating the level of his own attractiveness, asserting that women generally found him “irresistible,” a “fact” confirmed by his wife, who sat behind him at the hearing.

Though Senators Danforth and Specter were quick to use the Doggett statement and testimony as evidence that I suffered from erotomania, neither of them suggested that Doggett himself might be suffering from erotomonomania. One reporter described the disease as “a male delusion that attractive young women are harboring fantasies about them.” Even without probing from the panel, applying the Republican standard of psychological evaluation, John Doggett showed himself to be a candidate for a diagnosis for this disorder. Had the senators been interested in a scientific pursuit, John Doggett would no doubt have made a good subject for their inquiry. Instead, Senator Specter took the offensive and went to the press to bolster Doggett’s pitiful account and defend the committee’s admission of it by describing it as “powerful” and “impressive.”

In contradiction to the impression Doggett believes he left with me, my recollection is hazy at best. Nevertheless, the John Doggett whom I recall from my time in Washington was a man who often inflicted his attention on women even where it was not reciprocated. Following his testimony, several women callers to the Senate committee confirmed my recollection and challenged the notion that he was “irresistible.” Many
of the callers had apparently found Doggett and his advances repulsive. And one of the callers even sent in a sworn statement of an encounter in the workplace with Doggett during which he tried to kiss her against her will. Nevertheless, the evidentiary rules as enforced by Senator Biden allowed admission of John Doggett’s testimony and excluded that of the women who called with a contradictory point of view. The idea of the admission of testimony like Doggett’s in a proceeding as important as this is hard to believe. The reality of experiencing it, however, was completely appalling.

N
early nine hours after Senator Biden swore me in, I concluded my testimony. The Republican senators had raised questions about the veracity of my statements, my professional competency, and my sanity. At 7:40
P.M
. I was exhausted, my head ached, and the pain in my side from the tumors was excruciating after sitting in one position for hours. Underneath my suit, my body was drenched with perspiration from both the tension and the pain. Emotionally, I was numb but relieved.

As the procession filed out of the caucus room and down the hall to our “headquarters,” I knew that I would need to return to testify, but I was glad that at least the first day was over. Someone found me a Tylenol, which I took in the bathroom off the conference room where my team and family had temporarily camped. It was one of the few moments I had had alone. I looked at the face in the mirror and marveled that it could still be mine. So much of what had happened that day suggested that I was living someone else’s life. I splashed my face with cold water and prayed a short prayer. This time I was too tired to pray for understanding, and I just prayed for strength.

When I returned to my family and friends in our headquarters, the mood was decidedly hopeful, if less than upbeat. People had gathered over the course of the day to volunteer their assistance. Many had worked hard all day—gathering information and trying to get a sense of what would happen next. They, too, were relieved that the day was over. The combination of the emotional pitch and the work left everyone
gathered there exhausted. Absent were the highly paid public relations handlers Senator Simpson suggested were supporting me. Absent also were the “special interest” groups many felt had encouraged me to come forward. Senator Simpson’s suggestion that ours was a well-polished machine aimed at nailing Clarence Thomas advanced a gross inaccuracy. A simple snapshot of those present would have completely dispelled the notion. And perhaps it was owing to our amateurism that I do not recall a single photograph being taken of the gathering.

One insider’s description of the Republican headquarters contrasts with what I witnessed in my own station. He described the atmosphere in the Republican camp as chaotic and resonant—very much like a “political rally.” The observer, a veteran of highly contested legal claims, was uncomfortable with what he saw, finding it “not conducive to getting at the truth.”

We ended the day with prayer. Though many who joined probably do not consider themselves religious, what happened had meaning for each of us. We all joined in a circle holding hands—family, friends, and strangers thankful for what we’d been able to do that day and praying for the strength to continue.

John Frank, an expert on the Supreme Court confirmation process, may have been the only member of the team to acknowledge the significance of what had occurred that day. When I arrived in our headquarters, he embraced me and wept. I wanted to weep as well, for I knew that I had lost something that nothing could ever replace. Just what it was I could not be sure, but inside I knew that I would never be the same. The challenge I had issued to myself at the beginning of my testimony—to tell what I knew as clearly as possible—was ringing in my ears. Despite the words of Senator Simon that I “had performed a great public service” by testifying, and Senator Herbert Kohl that “the pain [I had experienced would] vastly improve the way men and women respond to the problem throughout the country,” I was not certain that I had accomplished my goal. I was certain only that I had survived the ordeal for now and was prepared to try again.

I said good-bye to my family at the Senate building, and Ray McFarland,
my lone security adviser, drove me back to my hotel room. They were all unaware of my location, and because of the danger of being followed by the press, we continued to keep it that way. Between sessions they occupied themselves with a dinner at Gary Lee’s house and some sight-seeing. On one trip to Georgetown my sisters bought me a gift of cookies and candy to help lift my spirits. They were well aware of my sweet tooth and knew just what might help to lift me out of the despair that we were all fighting. Except for two outings, one to dinner and one to church on Sunday morning, my father refused to leave his hotel room. Though I did not know it at the time, we shared the same sequestered experiences, each of us isolated in a rented room while events over which no one seemed to have control plunged ahead.

B
ack in my hotel room that evening, I took a much welcomed shower. Alone with my thoughts momentarily, I struggled to sort out what had happened and what to do next. My head spun. I changed into the most comfortable thing I could find in my hurriedly packed suitcase—a sweater and jeans—and prepared to watch the hearing as the committee readjourned.

While I was waiting, I took out a handwritten letter that had somehow made its way from a woman in Washington to Michelle Roberts, an attorney on the team. This letter gave me a sense of the importance of the proceeding in which I had participated:

The writer and I shared more than just race and profession. We shared a common experience and understanding. As I took solace in finding a comrade, I was reminded of the differences between myself and my experiences and the panel I had appeared before that day. It was a gap that no amount of education or salary would ever erase. It was a gap that had little to do with party politics and everything to do with gender and racial politics. The real-world dynamics of harassment and racial community escaped those officials. Senator Hatch had suggested that as an attorney one should be able to tolerate harassment, and that a woman with an Ivy League degree would be well insulated from retaliation for complaining about harassment. But both the letter writer and I knew differently from our own experiences. None of the senators seemed to have a clue about how Clarence Thomas’ race amplified my sense of victimization, making both the experience itself and the prospect of complaining about it more difficult. But in just a brief passage this woman had articulated what would have taken me volumes to explain. And when I read that letter, I knew that someone understood.

W
hen my testimony ended, the Republican senators’ campaign against me escalated, and the fact that the hearing was more about media control than Thomas’ qualifications to serve on the Court came through clearly as the day came to an end. Judge Thomas’ handlers had insisted not only that he be the first to testify on Friday morning but that he also be the last to testify on Friday evening as well. When Biden originally announced his plan to end the day with my testimony, Kenneth Duberstein threatened that Thomas would hold a press conference in front of the hearing room doors and claim that he had been denied the opportunity to defend himself. Biden therefore capitulated, never offering me the opportunity to respond in like manner. And so at 9:00 prime-time Friday night, Thomas took the stand as millions watched.