Speaking Truth to Power (32 page)

Through the corridors of expensive modern furnishings and tasteful artwork selected to inform visitors of the law firm’s good judgment and prestige, Ruffled me to the conference room. There I met Paul Minor, the polygraph expert. After introductions, Mr. Minor explained to me his background and experience with the examination. Mr. Minor, too, was a man of few words, except to recite his credentials. He’d begun with the army and then with the FBI as polygraph program coordinator, revamping the agency’s use of the examination in investigations. Throughout his career the FBI had ranked his work as “exceptional.” Letters from William Webster himself attested to the agency’s confidence in him. Finally, he started his own private investigation firm. All told, Minor had about twenty years of training and experience using the polygraph. Clearly, he had explained the process many times before. But his stern face and tone indicated that he was not particularly interested in responding to questions about his expertise. All of which indicated a hostility—at the least a criticism—as though he were on the verge of chastising me. “So what,” I sighed to myself with a sense of resignation. After all, his demeanor was no worse than what I had experienced from the Senate Judiciary Committee members just two days prior. I had come to expect no better. At least no one could accuse Minor of being biased in my favor. It occurred to me that whether I reported the results of the examination or not, the information would surely get out. The press, I was certain, would somehow learn of the examination and the matter would be disclosed whatever the result.

The conference room itself had a strangely calming effect. It was small, with no windows, and neutral-colored, textured walls on which hung few embellishments of any sort. The drone of the fluorescent lights and the walls themselves muted any outside noises, a welcomed break from my hotel room, where the unavoidable television set served as a
constant reminder of the hearing. From Friday to Sunday morning my scenery had not changed, as I had holed up in the room listening to the testimony of Thomas and his witnesses well into the night.

Paul Minor’s explanation of how the examination process worked made me realize its importance. As he ran through the questions he would ask, ensuring that I understood them, I thought of all the different ways I’d been asked the same questions over the past week. At one point he asked me if I had ever done anything to encourage Clarence Thomas’ behavior or to give the impression that his conduct was invited. It was like FBI investigator Luton’s question about whether I dressed provocatively at work. And not unlike so many other questions which amounted to a familiar accusation, “You must have done something to deserve this.” But here, rather than anger, the question stirred self-doubt. Minor, Luton, and now even I couldn’t help but reflect society’s training to question the behavior of the accuser, rather than the behavior of the accused.

“Sometimes,” I tried to explain, returning to the period ten years prior, “when these things happen, you wonder whether you have done or said something that might be misinterpreted. But I had done nothing purposely to give Thomas the impression that I was interested in him other than as his assistant.” Once more I searched my mind for something that Thomas might have misconstrued and found nothing.

The pre-test interview completed, Minor began the test. Through a system of wires and suction cups and Velcro as I recall, he hooked me to the polygraph machine—which began to measure my blood pressure, heart rate, and respiration. I sat facing the wall and with my back to Mr. Minor and his polygraph machine. Over the drone of the lights, I could hear the graphs of my responses to his questions being drawn onto white paper as it fed through the machine.

Paul Minor: “Have you deliberately lied to me about Clarence Thomas?”

Anita Hill: “No.” The machine scratched out a graph of my response.

Paul Minor: “Are you fabricating the allegation that Clarence Thomas discussed pornographic material with you?”

Anita Hill: “No.” Again, the machine scratched out my response.

Paul Minor: “Are you lying to me about the various topics that Clarence Thomas mentioned to you regarding specific sexual acts?”

Anita Hill: “No.”

Paul Minor: “Are you lying to me about Clarence Thomas making references to you about the size of his penis?”

Anita Hill: “No.”

Interspersed among these relevant questions were control questions. Over and again for thirty minutes we each took our turn, Minor, then me, then the machine—my credibility, perhaps even my sanity, were measured. “Let’s take a break,” he said halfway through, but shortly thereafter we began the routine again. At the end, he excused me while he read the graph to detect deception in my responses to the questions.

I rejoined Shirley, Tree, and Ray, who had been waiting in one of the offices on that floor and we vainly attempted conversation. After a while, Mr. Minor called Charles Ogletree in to discuss the examination results. He had found no indication of deception. When I saw the look of relief on Tree’s face as Minor reported the results, I got my first glimpse of the anxiety he’d gone through in asking me to undergo the polygraph examination. Despite any confidence he had in me, he, too, must have known that the examination could not remain secret. We were both overjoyed that it was over and pleased at the outcome. Minor and Ogletree planned a press conference to announce the results of the examination.

W
ithin minutes of completing the polygraph examination, I was back in the car. For a brief period I enjoyed the free feeling one feels out of doors before we retraced our route and returned to my hotel room—the sanctuary that was quickly becoming a prison. I rushed straight to the television, concerned that I may have missed something of importance. Because the scheduling of testimony had been haphazard, I was uncertain what I had missed. Fortunately, the committee conducted little business in the morning, so that we returned in time to see the end of the testimony of the panel of my friends, the corroborating witnesses.

For about an hour they had been testifying that I had told them of Thomas’ behavior well before the confirmation process began. The hostility to them had soon become apparent. “I want to know,” demanded Senator Charles Grassley, Republican from Iowa, “do you want to see Judge Thomas on the Supreme Court? And I would start with you, Judge Hoerchner.”

“Senator, I am only here to tell the truth about what I was told back in the early 1980s. You have heard the truth today, and it is up to you to decide what to do with it,” the judge responded.

Senator Grassley continued his search for political animus. “Ellen Wells?”

“I echo what the judge says. I am here to give you this information that I know to be the truth, and for me to sit here and to say what my personal opinions may be about Judge Thomas’s qualifications for the Supreme Court, I think would not be appropriate, it would not answer to what I am here for,” Ellen Wells offered.

“Professor Paul?” the senator asked, moving on to the third panelist, law professor Joel Paul.

“Senator, as a legal scholar and an attorney, I have been asked the question many times prior to these allegations, whether or not Judge Thomas should be confirmed. I did not take a position then, I am not taking a position now. I am simply here to tell the truth about what I was told by Professor Hill four years ago, that she was sexually harassed by her supervisor at the EEOC,” Paul explained.

This response seemed to provoke the senator more than any. “I am kind of puzzled. If you have reason to believe that Judge Thomas is a sexual harasser or guilty of sexual harassment, why wouldn’t you sign a letter against the nomination?”

“First of all, Senator, I was asked to sign a letter prior to these allegations. Second of all, Senator, I believe that Professor Hill told me the truth in 1987, but I believe that you, Senator, and the other members of this committee sitting here trying to determine the facts should wait to hear all the evidence, before making a determination. As I said in response to Senator Simpson’s question, if Judge Thomas, in fact, committed
the acts alleged, then I don’t think he should be confirmed. If he did not commit the acts alleged, I have no position.” Paul’s response was noncommittal and lawyerlike—not one upon which he could be indicted. Perhaps this is what angered Senator Grassley all the more.

“It seems to me like people in your position ought to have a personal view of whether or not Judge Thomas ought to be on the Supreme Court and that you would welcome an opportunity to express it, and that you would think that, for a non-lawyer like me, it would be important for me to know it to determine whether or not you have got any bias.”

The senator’s lecture to Joel Paul and the rest of the panel assumed that they would allow any questions they had about Thomas’ qualifications for the Supreme Court to control their recollection about what they had been told. This was a decidedly Washington insider perspective—politics controls over any moral or ethical sense of right or wrong.

Clearly, both Senators Grassley and Simpson were trying to put the panel members in a no-win position. It was impossible to explain to professional politicians that one may have a political difference with someone and not act on it. And lawyers, in particular, often have substantive differences, yet choose not to act on them to oppose a court appointment. Moreover, I know of no lawyer who would risk disbarment by fabricating a story to prevent a presidential appointment. If any of the witnesses said that they were against the nomination, then the senators would claim it was that bias that led to their testimony. If they said that they favored the nomination, the senators could use that to undermine the seriousness of Thomas’ behavior. The witnesses were right to keep their opinions out of it.

Grassley and the others had the benefit of many legal scholars, who in the first round of the hearing had talked about Thomas’ qualifications to be on the Court. In the end, Professor Paul got the better of the exchange with Grassley and provided perhaps some comic relief at the senator’s expense. In response to Grassley’s remark about the importance of forming an opinion about Judge Thomas’ qualifications, Professor Paul shot back in a professorial form designed to put an end to questioning.
“Senator, I didn’t have the opportunity during the original round of hearings to review the record, but if you would like me to review the record, I will be happy to come back and present you with my opinion.”

Immediately following Professor Paul’s retort, Senator Leahy reminded Grassley that only members of the Senate had taken an oath requiring them to vote on the nomination of Judge Thomas. Referring to himself and his Senate colleagues, Senator Leahy asserted, “We are the only ones who must state an opinion.”

Finally, the questions turned to the substantive issues of the hearing. Both Susan Hoerchner and Ellen Wells testified that they had discussed the behavior I described in my testimony with me when it occurred in 1982. Neither had a political or personal axe to grind with Clarence Thomas or any of the senators. And both had undertaken to testify at considerable risk. Hoerchner held a job that was a highly public, appointed position. Wells lived and worked in Washington in jobs that constantly interfaced with the federal government.

Having failed at efforts to attack their credibility, instead of accepting the testimony as credible, members of the committee now sought to shame them for not originally encouraging me to file a complaint. Senator Simpson, in his questioning of Judge Hoerchner, expressed disbelief that Hoerchner, acting as “a counsel or friend,” hadn’t advised me to “do something” about the harassment I experienced. Senator Grassley echoed Simpson’s assessment and offered his own that it confirmed nothing about “any sexual harassment by Judge Thomas of Professor Hill.” Ironically, individuals who had taken great risk to offer testimony were now being admonished for irresponsibility in not giving counsel to pursue the claim earlier and dismissed with the conclusion that what they had to say, truthful or not, did not matter anyway.

From my perspective those who testified to corroborate my account were wonderful friends. They came forward and held firm in the face of unwarranted hostility from the Republicans. Thomas’ supporters developed huge dossiers on the political and social activities through their investigators. And each of the witnesses risked the further wrath of the Republicans even in the aftermath of the hearings, a wrath manifested in
challenges to the employment of at least two of the witnesses, Susan Hoerchner and Joel Paul. Moreover, they risked the response of an angry public. They, too, received threatening letters and phone calls in response to their participation in the hearing. One vile individual actually mailed fecal matter to Judge Hoerchner at her office.

But far more important to the process than their loyalty as friends was the integrity of these members of the panel. And it was that, as much as anything, which brought them forward, each separately and against the odds, to testify. Judge Hoerchner was the only member of the panel who, prior to the leak, had been aware of the statement I sent to the Senate. John Carr, with whom I hadn’t spoken in years, wrote a letter reminding me that I had told him about Thomas. It arrived in Oklahoma the day following my press conference. And after attempts to reach me in Oklahoma failed, Ellen Wells came to the offices of Pepper, Hamilton and Scheetz the day before the hearing to confirm her recollection of the harassment. My last prior contact from Ellen had been a Christmas card she mailed the year before. Joel Paul contacted the Senate directly, through his own attorney, and spoke with the press even before any member of my team had spoken with him. He and I had not been in contact in years. None of the witnesses knew each other, having met for the first time in the Senate building during the hearing. The very idea that these four people, living in three different cities and coming from four different walks of life, could have conspired to come together in that setting is preposterous.

When I heard them testify, I consoled myself in the realization that no matter what the senators on the committee concluded, those who knew me during the time knew that I was telling the truth. Late in the hearing, on Sunday afternoon, when many members of my team balanced precariously on the edge of bitterness, Senator Kennedy summed up the import of their testimony eloquently: