Speaking Truth to Power

by Anita Hill

  The work I did there had to do mainly with business law. The firm represented major corporations in matters of trade, environmental, and banking law. There were some exciting projects at Wald’s, but none were included among my assignments, many of which were in the area of banking law. This was not considered the most interesting or extensive part of the firm’s practice, so there wasn’t much competition among associates to do it. Nevertheless, I found it challenging, and I was learning an area which I had not studied in school.

  One project on which I spent considerable time was a banking law manual. It generated no billable hours, the key measure of accomplishment in the law firm. The project was done pro bono, as a way for the partner with whom I was working to showcase his knowledge of the subject with the hope that that would generate new client interest. It was an admittedly dry subject, particularly for me, for I was behind the scenes and would not be credited with bringing in the clients even if the project was successful. But after weeks of long days pulling together the material and drafting the text, the partner with whom I had been working left the firm, unexpectedly taking the project and my unfinished work with him. I had no clue that he was leaving or even that he was dissatisfied with the firm.

  After my main project left the office, I worked on a number of other matters. They were minor and required little ongoing contact with specific partners. Not surprisingly, by the spring of 1981 I had not developed a real niche for myself at Wald. And of course the key to success in a law firm is to do precisely that, as early as possible, by doing well in important projects with successful partners or significant clients. In my first year at Wald, Harkrader I had done neither.

  There was no overt discrimination to account for my failure to establish myself early on, but on some level, I began to question whether I would ever truly long to do the firm’s work. Some of the work was intellectually stimulating, but I felt very little personal investment in it or in the process by which I might ultimately become a partner. And though there were those who made me feel welcome, there were others whose skepticism showed. I did not fully understand its impact on me until years later, when I heard my colleagues ponder aloud whether a certain minority candidate would “fit in” on the faculty, or whether a certain woman was enough of a “team player,” or that “there was just something about” a certain Jewish candidate that someone “just couldn’t put a finger on.” I would watch, listen, and voice my disappointment as these ill-defined intangibles became more important than the very attractive tangible qualities of a candidate.

  I never dealt with blatant discrimination at the firm. But there were rumors that, despite some positive reviews of my work from some partners, others preferred to work with the white associates. Some thought I was “too shy”; others “too aggressive.” And though I worked on some good assignments, many were pro bono. I did not receive the “choice assignment,” but rather was assigned to work with partners like the banking expert, who was thought to be difficult. Certainly, no other partner stepped in to take me under his or her wing or to teach me about functioning in what was for me a completely new environment. Though there was nothing that would rise even close to the level of a discrimination lawsuit, a response which would never have occurred to me, I confronted prejudice nevertheless. The kind so ingrained as to be unconscious but whose cumulative effect can be as devastating as anything made blatant. In the end, the goal of “making partner,” the aspiration of all associates who remain in a large law firm practice, seemed an empty one. Had I understood that I could attain it, I might have been encouraged to stay. But the experience left me somewhat insecure, and I was uncertain that I wanted it or that I could reach it.

  I decided to explore opportunities outside private law firms, including positions in the federal government. In the spring of 1981 I spoke with Gilbert Hardy about such a change. Gil by now had become a good friend. We lived in the same apartment building and sometimes walked to work together. Each of us was at a crucial point in our career. He was on the verge of making partner, and I was trying to establish myself as an associate. Gil and I talked about the disappointments of my first few months. He shared my curiosity about other areas of the law, but was invested in the firm (and eventually did make partner). It was in this context that Gil first mentioned Clarence Thomas, a personal friend of his from Yale Law School. Thomas, who was working on Capitol Hill in Senator Jack Danforth’s office, was anticipating an appointment by the Reagan administration. Though I had been in Washington for a few months, I knew little of Danforth and nothing of Thomas.

  One of Ronald Reagan’s chief pledges had been to cut government, and as evidence of his sincerity, the new administration instituted a hiring freeze. Washington is a town that reflects the government in place, and in 1981 organizations and law firms there were taking a similarly conservative approach to hiring. Shortly after deciding to leave Wald, I realized the poorness of my timing. A few weeks after my conversation with Hardy, however, he invited me to a small gathering in his apartment. Gil lived only a few floors below me, and I had been there on other occasions. But it was on this visit that I first met Thomas, who was living with Gil temporarily, having separated from his wife. Our conversation was brief. He seemed enthusiastic as we talked about his upcoming appointment and what he thought he might be able to accomplish. He struck me as sincere, if a little brusque and unpolished. In fact, he seemed almost the opposite of Gil, who was naturally charming, often soft-spoken, and almost boyish. “What an odd pair to be friends,” I thought to myself. But Gil and I had become close, and I trusted his judgment. Nevertheless, I expressed skepticism about the administration, in light of Reagan’s rhetoric about the poor. The idea that benefits would “trickle down” to the poor if the rich were assisted by tax breaks and the like struck me as foolish. How were we to know that the wealthy would not just keep the benefits of the government’s efforts for themselves? Thomas was as enthusiastic as I was skeptical, insisting that much of the rhetoric during the campaign and Reagan’s first few months in office would not be administration policy. Thomas had been assured that he would determine the policy of whatever agency he was appointed to. He further assured me that he had a strong commitment to civil rights, which we discussed at some length.

  After that meeting I heard nothing from Thomas for weeks. Eventually when he contacted me, we had one or two further conversations about his appointment. From those conversations I realized that we had differences, but Thomas assured me that he was open to new ideas. By the time Thomas offered me a job as his assistant, he had learned that he would be appointed as assistant secretary for civil rights in the Department of Education. I knew a little about that office from a seminar I had attended there between college and law school. And based on that seminar, which involved issues of education at traditionally black colleges, I was very interested in the work. Calculating all of the career risks and the personal risks I could think of, I decided to go work for Clarence Thomas. Perhaps this would be the dream job I had hoped for.

  In an informal exit interview from the firm, I met with Robert Wald, one of its founders, who had worked in government himself. I admired his attempt to create a law practice that could be more humane and honorable. And the structure of the Wald firm was, in fact, more egalitarian and less divisive than firms where my classmates from law school worked. But I could not pretend to feel engaged with my work. Wald seemed genuinely sympathetic to my concerns when I explained my reasons for leaving the firm and my interest in government service and civil rights work in particular. And having checked my employment record, he also assured me that the firm would be happy to consider my application if I ever decided to return to private practice.

  In October 1991 John Burke, a former partner at Wald, told the Senate Judiciary Committee that he had had a conversation with me regarding my future at the firm and had encouraged me to find other employment. He also alleged that he had worked with me on numerous projects. This conversation never took place, though
Burke may believe it did. The firm record is very clear. I worked with Burke on only one small matter. When I was at Wald, he was a relatively young partner who had no general responsibility for the supervision, hiring, or firing of associates. He did work fairly closely with my friend, the other black female associate, who left Wald soon after I did. Perhaps she was the woman Burke advised to find other employment. He had no such discussion with me. Moreover, the record is also clear that in my first year at the firm, my performance was evaluated as acceptable by those with whom I did work. And Burke evaluated the limited work I did for him as acceptable.

  Perhaps because I was so ready for a change or perhaps because he was so persuasive, Thomas convinced me that the work I would be doing for him would promote the goals of civil rights. He promised a challenge, but seemed to welcome innovation. I believed in the enforcement of civil rights laws, and to reassure myself that I was making a positive choice, I told myself that those who cared about civil rights should not abdicate its issues to those who did not. There would be no hope if the current administration’s civil rights agencies were filled with opponents of civil rights.

  At all times, I considered myself to be working for Clarence Thomas, not the Reagan administration. It was Thomas who had inspired my allegiance. The fact that he was black was certainly a major factor in my decision to work with him. He even spoke in terms of black solidarity and the need to hire someone black whom he could trust in civil rights matters. To calm whatever misgivings I had about the administration, he encouraged me to think of myself as his “personal assistant.” The position was one that was directly supervised by, maintained by, and related to him, not to Ronald Reagan. President Reagan, he claimed, was uninterested in what was to occur in “his shop.”

  Loyalty to him, not to the administration, was what Thomas encouraged, and it was typical of persons in authority on Capitol Hill and in appointed positions with the government. Perhaps Thomas himself had learned it from Senator Danforth. This brand of loyalty requires that assistants report their actions directly to their supervisors. Any questions or complaints must be addressed to supervisors. When things go wrong, the supervisor is alerted immediately and a responsible party is identified. And, just as surely, when things go right, the supervisor gets the credit. None of this was very different from the practice of law, except there the client’s concern was the most important factor. Client matters, hours billed, and revenues brought in were what drove the practice, not the personalities of the partners or a sense of loyalty to them. Perhaps the primary difference between the private and government arenas was that in the latter, personality was often put before substance. Politics followed closely behind personality as a secondary concern.

  According to Thomas, no one was to be trusted. Because I was one of two personal assistants, I had only one colleague, and he encouraged me not to trust even her. As the personal assistant to an appointee, I was expected to protect him from his higher-ups as well as from career government workers. And I was expected to keep Thomas’ secrets, personal and work-related, no matter how disturbing. I might have disagreed with Thomas in private (as I often did), but in public I needed to put on a good face for other appointees, those who were working in the agency when I arrived and those who would remain there when I left. Whether an assistant in government “worked out,” was retained or promoted and enjoyed the continued patronage of the supervisor, or gets “blackballed” depended more on personality than quality of work. It was the nature of the workplace. Had I failed to fulfill the unwritten duties, I would have been fired or shunted away to do irrelevant work. There was little choice in the matter. In staying, I balanced my concern for the issues and my ability to voice objections directly to Thomas against a flawed work environment that I was powerless to change.

  In August 1981, shortly after his appointment, I went to work with Clarence Thomas. When I arrived, I did not know of the unwritten duties. But as his special assistant, I quickly learned. My youth and inexperience showed, but I caught on fast. I had just turned twenty-five and was only one year out of law school, with no government experience, but Wald had prepared me for the long hours it would take to gain the knowledge I needed. Uncertainty and apprehension appropriately describe my first few weeks, but I was excited too. And for the first time my work offered the potential for making a positive professional contribution in an area I cared about personally.

  I had the support of my friends from law school who lived in Washington. Kim Taylor, who had recently left her job at a firm for a position in the local public defender’s office, was as enthusiastic about my leaving the private sector as she had been about her own move. Even those politically opposed to the stated policies of the administration were sympathetic to my wanting to get out of the law firm environment for more personally satisfying work. One classmate, Roger Clegg, was working for the administration. Our mutual friend Mike Debow, who was even more disenchanted with private practice than I, would later take a government appointment. Both were enthusiastic about my move—for political reasons as well as for reasons having to do with the substance of the work. My parents, however, objected—not so much on political grounds as because of their work ethic. My parents had been very proud of the fact that I had secured a job with a law firm right out of law school. They could not understand why I would leave a good, well-paying job so soon after starting it. And they were concerned about the risk involved in changing positions.

  I spent much of my time at the Office for Civil Rights looking at current research on the educational development of minority children. The office was the chief enforcement agency for combating race and gender discrimination in education under Titles VI and IX of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. The caseload of the Office for Civil Rights consisted of claims of race and gender discrimination in the provision of education and educational facilities. I was assigned mostly special projects and did very little casework.

  One of my projects was to review and monitor the progress of the Adams litigation, a case that had begun as a lawsuit against the secretary of education, Joseph Califano, in 1972. The suit involved questions of the continued viability of the historically black colleges in several states, most of them in the South. The discriminatory manner in which states had funded these institutions led to the lawsuit. The plaintiffs, who were black, claimed that these states promoted an illegal dual system of education by maintaining historically black colleges alongside historically white colleges. Yet the ultimate goals of the suit were unclear.

  The obvious response to such a claim was to dismantle the system and merge it into a unitary one. Many blacks objected to this remedy because it would result in the discontinuation of the black colleges, whose place in black communities was respected and appreciated. The challenge to the continued existence of the historically black colleges, the primary avenue of higher education for African Americans prior to the desegregation of white colleges, met political opposition.

  Another approach to resolving the suit was to ensure equality of treatment by bringing the schools to parity fiscally, programmatically, and with regard to physical facilities. The Carter administration had pursued a response that attempted to achieve parity in the funding of the historically black colleges, which had suffered from years of neglect at the hands of state government. The Reagan administration continued that policy. Thus, the goals of those involved in the Adams litigation—the colleges themselves represented by students and college presidents, the state governments and the federal government—ranged from full integration of the entire system into a unitary system to maintaining but enhancing the programs at historically black colleges. The results were as diverse as the range of goals. Some of the black colleges became more integrated, as did their white counterparts; others remained the same. Some historically black colleges gained programs and funding improvements; others did not.

  Oklahoma was one of the Adams states. Elreatha and Carlene, two of my sisters, had attended Langston University, the histori
cally black school in Oklahoma. In June 1977, the summer after I graduated from Oklahoma State University, the Department of Health, Education and Welfare had held a conference on Adams. I was invited to attend, along with students from other Adams states, to comment on the role and future of the historically black colleges in the event that the dual system was abolished and a unitary system established. I had advocated the position that the colleges ought to be enhanced. I knew that tradition and programs were such that Langston had very little chance of attracting a large number of white students in Oklahoma, in particular because it was located in a sparsely populated rural area. To allow its demise based on market demand would be the equivalent of punishing the very people, the students and administrators, who had borne the burden of discrimination. Thus in 1981, when the Adams cases came up in the Office for Civil Rights, I was particularly interested.

  Despite the fact that our office worked closely with the presidents of the traditionally black colleges, there was tension. For the first time I had to confront the antagonism between the administration and members of the black community. The mistrust was perfectly understandable given the administration’s antagonism toward some of the civil rights decisions which the black community supported. Yet, in the Adams case, though understandable, it was not altogether warranted. The office was attempting to take what I thought was the right position. In my project we did our best to maintain a good working relationship with the college presidents. We knew and understood the mistrust and hired a consultant, Linda Lambert, to act as a liaison. She later became a friend who helped me to understand the dynamics of the relationship between the plaintiffs, the black college presidents.