Speaking Truth to Power - Anita Hill [1]
Years have passed since October 1991. My world has been forever changed by the events that culminated in the “Hill-Thomas hearing.” I am no longer an anonymous, private individual—my name having become synonymous with sexual harassment. To my supporters I represent the courage to come forward and disclose a painful truth—a courage which thousands of others have found since the hearing. To my detractors I represent the debasement of a public forum, at best, a pawn, at worst, a perjurer. Living with these conflicting perceptions is difficult, sometimes overwhelming.
The transformation of my life began before the hearing with the news reports of my claims. Overnight my world expanded and the number of persons to whom I was accountable grew exponentially as I was questioned about my experience. After the hearing the number of people who felt accountable to me grew just as surprisingly as people sought to explain the event.
I knew on October 11, 1991, that the experience would remain with me forever. I did not know that it would live with me. Gradually, the events that took place in the days and weeks following the hearing revealed that the public would not quickly or easily forget the episode. The continued media interest, like the initial intrusion of the press on my privacy, was unanticipated and uninvited on my part. To them the event was a news story. To me it was my life.
In my first dealings with the press on October 2, I was cautious though naive. By October 13 I was thoroughly skeptical and doubted that the press would discuss sexual harassment with any insight or sensitivity. Nor did I believe that all the journalistic prying was motivated by service to the public’s right to know. Some of my suspicions were confirmed when I received a telephone call from an Oklahoma City attorney who represented the owner of a bar popular with lesbians. Apparently, a tabloid reporter had called the owner to find out if I frequented her establishment.
Tuesday, October 15, 1991, the day of the vote on the nomination, became my focal point. Like the first day of a long-awaited vacation, that date stood out in my mind. I saw the vote as an end to the media attention, not a referendum on my testimony, and I convinced myself that once the nomination was debated and voted on by the entire Senate, the corps of reporters would leave Norman, Oklahoma, throw away my telephone number, and move on to the next story. This mental compartmentalization allowed me to go on about my work. But I could find no way to contain the public interest. The telephones in my office rang off the hook with calls from around the country. Each day I would go home to an answering machine filled with messages and out of tape. Daily, I received an average of thirty faxes offering sympathy, extending invitations, or expressing anger over the hearing. Even before I arrived home from Washington, D.C., local florists had begun delivering plants and flowers to my office at the University of Oklahoma College of Law. The pinks, yellows, and reds of the arrangements added a curious kind of festivity to the chaos. The fragrance filled the administrative offices and conference room until they smelled like a perfumery. Still, lovely colors and smells seemed out of place amid frazzled nerves and constantly bleating phones. One of the secretaries in the main office, Rose Martinez-Elugardo, made sure that I saw all the arrangements, collecting the card from each, and students volunteered to take them to local hospitals and nursing homes. Selfishly, I regretted that I could not preserve them all.
The enormous amount of mail was testament to the extraordinary level of public interest in the hearing. Beginning on Tuesday, October 15, the Postal Service started