Speaking Truth to Power

by Anita Hill

  Yet the media stories about Thomas rarely called attention to the different opportunities and expectations for him versus his sister, namely the educational opportunities and the freedom from caring for the elderly that were his and not hers. Inequities that can be reasonably attributed to her gender alone went undiscussed, as did the programs that enabled him to enter the best schools. Even Thomas’ early job with his mentor, Jack Danforth, seemed to come from Danforth’s own style of affirmative action. As the story goes, Danforth, who was attorney general of Missouri at the time, sought recommendations from Dean Guido Calabresi of Yale for a black law student who might want to work in his office. Yet in 1991 the press coverage focused on Thomas’ own efforts rather than the social programs that had benefited him throughout the 1960s and 1970s. Thomas contributed to this shift in the discussion when he contrasted himself with his sister, condemning her lack of initiative and extolling his self-initiative and resourcefulness.

  Nowhere was the discussion of Thomas’ nomination more intense and divisive than in the African American community. Some polls said that 52 percent of blacks supported Thomas’ nomination. In retrospect, though that figure was used by Thomas supporters, it seems incredibly low given that one would expect some measure of support from African Americans for another already prominent African American. Blacks who supported the nomination seemed split into two camps. One line of thought suggested that any black nominee would be better than any white nominee because a white nominee would mean losing what was seen as the “black” seat on the Court. Others thought that Thomas would be better than a white nominee because his background and the circumstances of his upbringing would make him empathetic to poor blacks. Despite what his detractors described as his dismal civil rights record, this camp believed that he would change once secure in a lifetime appointment. (At his confirmation hearing, Thomas suggested the same when he distinguished his early positions as those of a political appointee rather than those of a jurist.) Both groups believed that he should be given a chance.

  Thomas’ critics in the black community maintained that his views were so antagonistic to the well-being of the community that his race was secondary, even problematic, as it would lend credibility to an anti-civil-rights agenda. Some were convinced that the community would be better off with a conservative white person on the Court than with Thomas. One black congressman argued that the question should not be Thomas’ “skin color” but rather whether he was “going to be on our side in the dark of night when the chips are down.” Christopher Edley, who would later testify against the nomination, said that only Thomas’ color accounted for his selection over Starr. And more than a few pointed to what they called President Bush’s cynicism in declaring that Thomas was the “best man” for the job. Thomas’ supporters in the African American community accused his detractors of being elitists; African American critics accused his supporters of putting skin color over principle. In nominating Judge Clarence Thomas to succeed Justice Thurgood Marshall, Bush created a situation in which the community would lose whether the nomination failed or succeeded.

  The divisive nature of the political debate surrounding the nomination made it even more difficult for me to think about coming forward. I had no desire to become embroiled in the drama that was unfolding in the African American community or the political community as a pawn for either side. In fact, one friend, a Washington attorney and law school classmate to whom I mentioned Thomas’ behavior, bluntly advised me, “Don’t get involved. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

  I didn’t get involved. Instead, I continued to wait for a call from the investigators. I struggled with the information that weighed heavily on me and my inaction in the face of it, and as the humid days of August stretched on, I prayed for some direction.

  CHAPTER SIX

  By midafternoon on August 19 the temperature in Norman threatened to reach one hundred degrees. My first class of the fall semester was about to begin. Outwardly, it was a typical beginning to a fall semester. As always it seemed too hot for fall, too hot to begin the school year. But despite the intense heat, more than two hundred students of the incoming class entered their first year, primed with anticipation. Their energy was contagious and the intensity of their enthusiasm and anxiety eclipsed the summer heat. Happy to be back in the classroom, I found myself ignoring the weather altogether. But some matters I could not ignore.

  When Shirley Wiegand, my close friend and colleague on the faculty, returned for the school year, we charged back into our exercise routine—five-mile walks three times a week. Our feet slightly slowed by the heat, we recounted at full speed and in detail our respective summer experiences. After we had covered all the personal grounds, I finally asked, “Did I ever tell you that I worked for Clarence Thomas?” “No, you did not,” she said. The pace of our conversation slowed as I confided in her.

  I told Shirley that I did not know what to do. Together we approached the situation as we had been trained—as attorneys, even law professors. True to our profession, we discussed the situation in a series of what-ifs. First, we discussed how I would go about raising the issue if I decided to proceed—to whom I might speak, how much I would disclose initially, whether my statement should be written or oral. Second, we tried to consider what might happen and who might be affected if I raised the claim. We reached no conclusions, and our intuitions fell far short of what was to come. Prepared to respond to an inquiry, but by no means eager to answer, I kept waiting for the call from someone in the government doing a background investigation of Thomas.

  On the afternoon of September 5, 1991, the first call came. Gail Laster, counsel to the Judiciary Committee’s Labor Subcommittee, which was chaired by Senator Howard Metzenbaum, reached me in my office at the law school. I did not ask her how she had gotten my name and telephone number. I assumed that she had employed the same resources David Margolick had. My conversation with Laster began casually, almost pleasantly. I was not teaching on the day of the call and thus was a little more relaxed about spending time on the telephone. We recalled that we had been at Yale at the same time and had friends in common. Kim Taylor, whom I had known since law school, had supervised Laster at the D.C. public defender’s office. After some catching up on what each of us had done since our time in New Haven, Laster turned the conversation to the purpose of her call.

  “Do you know anything about allegations of harassment at the EEOC?” she asked.

  I responded with a question: “Do you mean allegations that Thomas harassed women at the EEOC?”

  “We have heard rumors to that effect,” she said.

  My immediate thought was that other women had complained and their stories had gotten back to the committee. Because Laster did not ask if I had been harassed, I assumed that she was referring to claims by other women. I knew nothing of such claims, but I did know that Thomas was capable of harassing behavior, so I told her that she should follow up on the rumors. But though I could not imagine how she might have known about my experience, in fact Gail Laster was referring to me.

  While I had been wrestling with what to do and preparing for the new semester, my name was traversing the political circuit of Washington, D.C. Peter Fleming, the special investigator who was later assigned to determine who leaked my statement to the press, pieced together the story from his research. Not until May 1992, when I read his reports, would I find out what had led Gail Laster to telephone me. According to Fleming, “In July, Nan Aron, director of the Alliance for Justice, a public interest group in Washington, heard a rumor that a woman claimed that she had been sexually harassed by Clarence Thomas.” I did not know Aron, nor was I familiar with the Alliance. Yet through bits of information they had, individuals at the Alliance identified me as the source of the story and obtained my office telephone number. Nan Aron passed this information, including the general nature of the allegations, to William Corr, chief counsel to the Judiciary Committee’s Subcommittee on Antitrust, Monopolies and Business Rights, also chaire
d by Senator Metzenbaum, Laster’s employer. Aron told Corr that there were other people who might be aware of Thomas’ harassing conduct.

  Corr delegated Gail Laster to investigate Aron’s information. Whether Gail was chosen because we knew each other, because she is a woman, or because she is black is uncertain. Laster sought further details from Aron about my identity and location but first contacted two other women who had worked with Thomas. Allyson Duncan, his office manager at the EEOC, indicated her support for the nomination and said she knew nothing about rumors of harassment. Neither she nor Judy Winston, who had worked at Education, mentioned any knowledge about inappropriate conduct by Thomas.

  Sometime during the week of August 19, at a staff meeting, Laster reported to fellow Metzenbaum staffers the results of her work on the Thomas nomination, which also included follow-up on matters besides the information brought to the senator’s office by Aron. Laster described her conversations with Winston and Duncan and said that she had not yet spoken with me. After discussion, the staff determined that she should contact me.

  By September 5, when Gail Laster called me, I had given up the idea that FBI agents in charge of investigating Thomas’ character and fitness for the Supreme Court would contact me. I was once again busy trying to juggle my own schedule. The immediate needs of more than one hundred students in my two classes, as well as various projects in the provost’s office, captured my attention. Yet in the back of my mind, I wondered what more I should have done—what more I could have done—to let the Senate Judiciary Committee know about my experience. The committee was set to open the confirmation hearing on Thomas on September 10. Until September 5 I said nothing. Even then I responded with caution.

  After I advised Laster to investigate any rumors she knew of, she explained her tentativeness in approaching me about the question of harassment, still without indicating that she had information about me personally. She said that she didn’t want to be part of any attempt to discredit Thomas based on racist sexual stereotypes about the behavior of black males. For the moment both she and I were caught in the complicated politics of the nomination. Each of us wanted to fulfill our responsibilities to the process, but neither wanted to be instruments of racism. We put concerns about gender bias aside because race was the issue at the front of everyone’s mind. I agreed with Laster that she ran the risk of catering to racism, but I still suggested that she investigate what she had heard. I sensed that Laster was not the one who should be investigating the claims. She was very conflicted about them and seemed too vulnerable to accusations that she was engaging in racism. My sympathy for her position would soon turn to empathy, when I was subjected to the same criticisms. But at the time, my feeling that she did not really want the answer to the question she had asked contributed to my not being more forthcoming with her as well.

  Despite her mixed feelings, Laster contacted Kim Taylor shortly after speaking with me. They discussed my conversation with Laster and its background. Taylor did not know about the experience I had with Thomas, but she knew me. On the basis of that knowledge, she advised Laster to be more direct if she wanted clearer answers. However, I did not hear from Laster again. After speaking with Taylor, Laster consulted with her boss, James Brudney, chief counsel to Senator Metzenbaum’s Labor Subcommittee. Brudney had graduated from Yale Law School the year before I did. I knew who he was but we did not socialize together. Brudney had already been advised of her contact with me and had authorized the call to Taylor. He recognized both names from our time at Yale together. After talking to Laster, Brudney instructed her to “discontinue” her investigation. I can only speculate that he thought she had too little information to move forward with an investigation.

  On September 6, without knowing about the conversation between Laster and Taylor, I was pondering whether to call Gail Laster back. But before I had a chance, Ricki Seidman of Senator Ted Kennedy’s staff telephoned me. Seidman was the chief investigator for the Senate Labor and Human Resources Committee, which was chaired by Kennedy. In late August, Bonnie Goldstein, Senator Metzenbaum’s investigator, who also got my name from Nan Aron’s organization, had passed the information to Seidman to follow up. Seidman contacted the Alliance for Justice office and spoke to Goldstein’s contact, George Kassouf, who informed her that he had not spoken to me directly but was relying on other sources.

  When she telephoned me, Seidman at first spoke in general terms about the Thomas nomination. When she turned the conversation to sexual harassment, I told her about my conversation with Gail Laster of the Metzenbaum staff. Seidman continued the conversation and then asked directly, “Do you have any comment on rumors that Thomas sexually harassed you while you were at the EEOC?” It occurred to me that the whole inquiry was based on rumors. In a city like Washington, that could mean anything. Seidman had not told me the source of the rumors or given me any indication what the committee might do in response. “I will neither confirm nor deny the information at this time,” I told her. We then talked more generally about victims of sexual harassment, and the conversation ended with Seidman’s promise to contact me again on Sunday, September 8.

  This was the second call I had received in two days about Clarence Thomas and sexual harassment, and I could no longer deny that the committee knew something about Thomas’ behavior and knew that I was its target. I had been thinking about coming forward all summer, but had decided to wait until the investigators came to me. When that had not happened by the end of August, I had assumed it would never happen. So when the first call came, I was not prepared. And when the second call came, I was taken aback that two separate inquiries were being made. At that point, I needed to talk things over with someone I trusted. I went to Shirley Wiegand and another woman on the law school faculty, whom I had not confided in before, Leisha Self.

  Our conversation was intense and gloomy. I was agitated and my two colleagues equally apprehensive. I did not detail the behavior, but they immediately understood its nature. Together we began to formulate a plan for moving forward. Their advice was to make the disclosure but only after receiving assurances about the procedure the committee would follow in investigating the charges. Of the three of us, only Wiegand had experience litigating Title VII claims. Self had some experience in labor law generally. None of us were experts on sexual harassment. We decided that any statement and investigation must be kept confidential. Despite our legal experience and sense of obligation to the legal process, our skepticism about the politics involved counseled caution. And that is how I attempted to proceed, with caution.

  Ricki Seidman contacted me again on Monday, September 9. By then I was ready to go forward, but I insisted that the information not be made available to the press. Seidman assured me that the committee could accommodate my desire for confidentiality. During that conversation I told Seidman about Thomas’ pressuring me for dates and about his discussions of pornography. I indicated that the conduct was not isolated, but avoided any further specifics. I said I recalled one person who could corroborate the general nature of what had occurred, but I was hesitant because I did not want to bring Sue Hoerchner into the matter without consulting her first.

  On the morning of Tuesday, September 10, I sat in the small bedroom I had converted to a den, and watched Joseph Biden, chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee, open the Thomas confirmation hearing. I felt numb. The sight of Jamal, Thomas’ son, reminded me how much time had passed since I left Washington. I’d still lived in Washington and worked for Thomas when I first met Jamal, then a child; now as the hearing unfolded he sat behind his father a fully grown young man.

  I had kept my secret for all those years—enough for a child to become an adult. I had not counted the years, and had been fully prepared to go on keeping the secret. Now I would do so no longer. I was not happy about what I felt I had to do ten years before—keep quiet—nor was I happy about what I must do now—speak out. There was no joy, no sense of righteousness or vindication. At best, I felt some small relief,
as if a certain pressure had been released—like the unbuttoning of a shirt collar. I had carried the burden of the secret for so long that I trained myself to ignore its existence. The shame I felt should never have been mine, but I had taken it on by my own silence. Now, having finally made the choice to relinquish the burden, to tell the secret, to admit the embarrassment, it was almost as if nothing had happened. In a moment of calm, after I turned off the television set, I realized the significance of what I was about to do, and I prayed that I could see it through.

  That same Tuesday, September 10, James Brudney of Senator Metzenbaum’s staff contacted me. Ricki Seidman had informed him of her conversations with me and had suggested that as a former acquaintance he might be an appropriate contact for pursuing the matter. From the beginning of our conversation, I expressed three reservations about going forward. First, I did not want to testify in a public hearing. The nature of behavior to which I had been subjected was embarrassing and personal. It was something I chose not to discuss publicly. Second, I wanted to know what kind of process the committee would use in investigating the charges. I was sure that if the committee, without an independent investigation, simply went to Thomas and asked him about the truth of the allegations, he would either deny them or reduce them to a “misunderstanding.” He could bluff and bluster his way around the charge if he thought it was simply my word against his but would be less able to simply deny them if he knew that the committee had conducted an investigation. He had told me that my disclosure would “ruin” him. I knew that he would not take it without some resistance, and if there was no further investigation, the committee would feel safe to dismiss my charges. Finally, I was hesitant to go forward without some indication whether other women had reported similar behavior. I suspected there were others but had no way to prove it. What I did not know was that the women the committee had contacted thus far had denied that anything in the nature of harassment had occurred.