Speaking Truth to Power (34 page)

“Dr. Dietz,” I inquired, hoping for redemption for the profession, “have you ever studied individuals who were sexually harassed?”

“In my practice, I have had occasion to see patients who have been victims of harassment,” he was quick to respond.

“You must then be familiar with the symptoms of those suffering from sexual harassment—based on your work with your patients,” I offered. He allowed that he had counseled a number of sexual harassment victims.

“Did any one of the Republicans ever ask you about the symptoms of actual sexual harassment victims?” I asked. He paused, explaining that he
was asked about his work on erotomania. “Did anyone ever ask you how to distinguish between someone suffering from delusion and an actual victim of sexual harassment?” I pressed.

He paused again. “No, no one ever asked.”

L
ate Sunday evening it became clear that neither Wright nor Hardnett or the witnesses who could support their claims would be called to testify. As I listened to the testimony of John Doggett, followed by the panels of women who testified that Thomas behaved properly toward them, the whole affair moved beyond the realm of the unreal into the surreal, from an intensely painful experience to a spectacle as ludicrous as it was bizarre.

The media’s lack of sensitivity about harassment, the brevity of coverage allotted, along with the media manipulation by White House staff members and consultants, may explain the faulty coverage. And these factors may shed light on why, throughout the process, an independent press went along with the Republican perspective. But I can make this observation only with the benefit of hindsight. At the time of the hearing, I read, watched, and listened, searching for something in the stories and commentaries that showed that they indeed reflected my experience. Finding very little, my feeling of isolation grew all the more intense. Fortunately, in the days and years to follow, the press would look more closely at the issue of sexual harassment and begin the work of a more complete appraisal of the hearing itself. Unfortunately, however, much of the damage to the issue of harassment, my reputation, and the idea of citizen involvement in the nomination process had already been done. And as absurd as some commentary and reporting was, I felt the sting deeply. By Sunday night I had had more than enough. I would not subject my friends to any part of the committee’s character assaults, nor would I myself. Neither the press nor the committee seemed interested in getting to the truth of the matter.

W
hen I was a child, I eagerly accepted invitations from relatives and family friends to go home with them. Unlike JoAnn, who was more of a homebody, I followed aunts and uncles and neighbors whenever allowed. Because I was so willing, I got a number of invitations. “Why don’t you let us take Faye home with us?” Mrs. Reagor would suggest. After some consideration and stern admonitions to “be good” and “mind” Mrs. Reagor or whoever was taking me, my mother would pack a few of my clothes, and off I would go, anxious for the new experience. But a few days into these short visits, I would always grow impatient. My family had no telephone, and soon I longed to hear my mother’s and father’s voices, as well as the playful teasing of my brothers and sisters. My visits would end with me as eager to return home as I had been to leave.

As I sat in my room at the Capitol Hill Hotel on the morning of Monday, October 14, 1991, I felt the longing simply to go home, as if leaving Washington and going to Oklahoma would put an end to the entire matter. “We’re leaving this morning. Make sure everyone is ready to leave by ten,” I told JoAnn that morning from my room at the hotel. “But what about the rest of the hearing?” she asked, surprised by my announcement. I explained to her that there would be no additional panel; I would not testify again and the hearing would adjourn.

JoAnn, the sister closest to me in age and experience, was my family contact throughout the hearing. When we were growing up, though nearly four years my senior, JoAnn had had to accompany me at bedtime. When I wanted to visit a burial ground which was located on our farm, my mother instructed the reluctant JoAnn to join me. When I, at eight, was ready to have my ears pierced by our Aunt Sadie, as my sisters Joyce and Carlene had done, my mother and I coaxed the reluctant older sister into doing the same.

Throughout this entire ordeal JoAnn, whose reputation in our family is of one quick to anger, had been a paragon of patience and calm. She did not know where I was but I spoke with her every day of the hearing trying as best I could to keep her informed of the events as they unfolded. And she tried to comfort me, though she, too, must have been angered and confused by it all. Finally it happened. All that I had for days dammed up burst forth like a geyser. Through tears I confessed to her, “I just want to go home.”

The testimony that I had given on Friday provided enough for those interested in hearing the truth to make an informed decision. I struggled to find a reason for a second appearance—something that could be accomplished. Few of the senators had any positive goal for the process. The Democrats were impatient from the beginning, and the Republicans seemed only interested in finishing my destruction. Even as I was preparing to go home, Senator Danforth was trying to publish allegations by Oral Roberts University students. Though I knew nothing of his plans, I decided to go home without testifying again.

Beginning the job of gathering the family together and getting them home, JoAnn first went to my parents. “Is Faye leaving today?” Daddy asked. “I’m not leaving here without Faye,” he declared. She assured him that we would all be leaving. So instead of bracing for another day of testimony, they prepared to travel back to their respective homes (except for my sister Elreatha, who stayed in Washington to spend time with her son, Gary Lee). My parents and JoAnn would head back to Tulsa; my sisters Doris, Joyce, and Carlene and my niece LaShelle to California;
and Ray, Eric, Shirley, and I to Norman, Oklahoma. After making arrangements for the care of her toddler, Matthew, Louise Hilsen also traveled with us to Oklahoma to handle the press inquiries.

Our entourage of eleven boarded the airplane together. I sat beside my anxious father, who was on the second airplane flight in his life, and my equally anxious mother, who complained that the portions of airplane food were too large. Connecting to our various destinations in Dallas, we entered the Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport to the glare of television cameras and the inevitable crowd they seemed to generate. Arrangements had been made for courtesy carts to escort us to our connecting flights, but the hostility of the crowd was evident even before we could be driven away. As we moved through the gauntlet which had formed, we could not avoid the jeers and catcalls. “Shame,” one woman hissed. “Wench,” someone else shouted at me. I could detect only one person who offered support and encouragement. She was at the edge of the crowd as we made our way through it. I focused my attention on her—the rest melded into a blur of hostility.

As we prepared to board our connection for Oklahoma, we realized that my father was not with us. He had left to go to the men’s room and had not returned. “Go see if you can find him,” I told Eric. “We’re getting ready to board.” Panicking at the thought of his eighty-year-old grandfather lost in the airport, my nephew went to find him. He returned with my father in tow just in time for my parents and JoAnn to board the airplane to Tulsa. Our flight to Oklahoma City left a few minutes later.

As I sat on the plane for the short flight from Dallas to Oklahoma City, I tried to anticipate the reception we would receive in that airport. But my apprehension proved unnecessary, as the crowd gathered in the Oklahoma City airport was welcoming. Just as someone had organized the hostile crowd in Dallas, friends had organized this gathering at the airport to make sure that my return there was welcoming. I was just as surprised to get this reception as I had been to receive the jeering in Dallas, not yet grasping the full impact of the situation. I had been in a hotel room shielded from much of the public sentiment for nearly three
days. But I began to realize that my life was going to be an unsettling series of ups and downs for the foreseeable future.

Nevertheless, I was glad to be home. In less than an hour after I arrived in Oklahoma City, I would give my first comments since testifying. I was happy to be on campus in the student union—a familiar setting. Just prior to my entering the room, I spoke with Charles Ogletree. “You should know that they have people in the crowd who are going to try to discredit your statement,” he warned. I was still unaware of who or what all was behind it. My only response was to stay with the comments I had prepared.

The crowd gathered in the ballroom was much larger and friendlier than I had expected. I looked and saw Frank Elkouri, a retired member of the law school faculty. His face and the face of his wife, Edna, caught my immediate attention. I had known them since I came to Norman in 1986. Their worried though somehow hopeful and smiling presence among the crowd reassured me. I did not know that Frank’s stomach had been wrenched with pain because of my ordeal. Another colleague, Peter Kutner, had taken to driving his car aimlessly for hours the day following my testimony. Others were just angry. The faces in the crowd came into focus as I recovered from the sheer surprise of it all. In the union were people with whom I had worked or served on committees or seen on campus and in the community. All helped to assure me that I had returned home. My brother Ray introduced me over the noise of the crowd. As I approached the microphone, I smiled for the first time in what seemed a long time.

My message was brief. I wanted to reiterate my purpose in going to Washington and the sincerity of my claim. But mostly, I wanted to thank them for their support. In my hotel room Senator Simpson’s Sunday afternoon theatrics about letters from Oklahoma had shaken my confidence. The people present in the room did not share whatever negative sentiment had been conveyed to him—with one notable exception. As Ogletree had warned, a placard held high in the crowd declared that my statement was “not sworn testimony.” Interestingly, though clearly unintentionally, the sign was an implicit endorsement of the statements I’d
made in the hearings, which were sworn testimony. The young man holding the sign had apparently anticipated that I would say something about Thomas. Perhaps he even thought that I might attempt to give the further testimony which I agreed to forgo. Oddly, the same misdirected message appeared over and again indicating that, however ill thought out, it
was
planned. The message on the sign was not as important as the indication that it gave of some organized effort to attack my statements. This kind of organized effort would mean difficulty for me beyond the problems I faced in Washington.

My welcome back to Norman, and to Oklahoma, was largely positive. Yet early on, individuals began a campaign to drive me out of Oklahoma and, in particular, out of my position on the faculty of the university. That lone placard gave scant notice of the insidious things to come.

I
n Washington, Senators Hatch, Specter, Danforth, and Simpson kept up their attack. Danforth released a statement by John Burke, a partner at the Wald firm, challenging my claim that I had left the firm voluntarily. Burke recalled that I had worked extensively with him and other lawyers in the tax, general business, and real estate sections of the firm. Burke further alleged that he advised me that I should look for other employment. Of course, those statements were completely false. I never worked with him and never received any kind of evaluation from him.

Danforth released the statement despite the fact that Donald Green, the partner “responsible for associate [attorneys] evaluations” as well as the firm records, disagreed with it. Green first submitted an affidavit to the committee, responding immediately to the Burke statement. And he followed up with a letter which provided more complete information based on the firm’s written records, informing Senator Biden: “There was no indication that Professor Hill ever worked on a legal matter with Mr. Burke or under his direct or indirect supervision. Professor Hill did perform a brief assignment for another partner more senior to Mr. Burke in [Burke’s] field of law. Professor Hill’s work was favorably reviewed by that partner. There was another first-year African-American woman associate who did work with Mr. Burke during the time described in his
affidavit, who was given an unsatisfactory evaluation and who was asked to seek other employment.”

Nevertheless, when Senator Danforth circulated Burke’s statement, he did not include Donald Green’s response. Again, the truth of the allegations did not matter. At the same time and for months thereafter, Danforth attempted to circulate slanderous allegations made by Oral Roberts students. Allegations were submitted to the press to destroy my personal and professional reputation in order to cast doubt on me. This attack was not about the truth—it was about destroying me.

Before I returned to Oklahoma, some well-wishers had sent flowers to the law school. Some of my colleagues had taken the plants to my home. After the press conference I went home with a bouquet of balloons to a walkway lined with flowers. In contrast to the scene outside, inside, the bomb threats and hate mail began to arrive. My telephone rang constantly, and since I had no way of knowing in advance whether the caller would be friendly, I answered—but always with trepidation. When I grew tired of the threats and condemnation, I let the answering machine take over the job of receiving them. Eventually, an additional telephone line gave me the security of knowing that I would not miss calls from friends and family.

My neighbors Dewey and Katherine Selmon and Wilma and John McFarland brought over casseroles; friends called to offer their assistance and comfort; my mother came to stay with me and help me deal with the stress and turmoil; and on the weekends JoAnn would come with her two younger children to assist and to divert my attention from the fracas. Jonna and Jerry, my niece and nephew, were always a distraction.