Speaking Truth to Power - Anita Hill [99]
When I returned to my family and friends in our headquarters, the mood was decidedly hopeful, if less than upbeat. People had gathered over the course of the day to volunteer their assistance. Many had worked hard all day—gathering information and trying to get a sense of what would happen next. They, too, were relieved that the day was over. The combination of the emotional pitch and the work left everyone gathered there exhausted. Absent were the highly paid public relations handlers Senator Simpson suggested were supporting me. Absent also were the “special interest” groups many felt had encouraged me to come forward. Senator Simpson’s suggestion that ours was a well-polished machine aimed at nailing Clarence Thomas advanced a gross inaccuracy. A simple snapshot of those present would have completely dispelled the notion. And perhaps it was owing to our amateurism that I do not recall a single photograph being taken of the gathering.
One insider’s description of the Republican headquarters contrasts with what I witnessed in my own station. He described the atmosphere in the Republican camp as chaotic and resonant—very much like a “political rally.” The observer, a veteran of highly contested legal claims, was uncomfortable with what he saw, finding it “not conducive to getting at the truth.”
We ended the day with prayer. Though many who joined probably do not consider themselves religious, what happened had meaning for each of us. We all joined in a circle holding hands—family, friends, and strangers thankful for what we’d been able to do that day and praying for the strength to continue.
John Frank, an expert on the Supreme Court confirmation process, may have been the only member of the team to acknowledge the significance of what had occurred that day. When I arrived in our headquarters, he embraced me and wept. I wanted to weep as well, for I knew that I had lost something that nothing could ever replace. Just what it was I could not be sure, but inside I knew that I would never be the same. The challenge I had issued to myself at the beginning of my testimony—to tell what I knew as clearly as possible—was ringing in my ears. Despite the words of Senator Simon that I “had performed a great public service” by testifying, and Senator Herbert Kohl that “the pain [I had experienced would] vastly improve the way men and women respond to the problem throughout the country,” I was not certain that I had accomplished my goal. I was certain only that I had survived the ordeal for now and was prepared to try again.
I said good-bye to my family at the Senate building, and Ray McFarland, my lone security adviser, drove me back to my hotel room. They were all unaware of my location, and because of the danger of being followed by the press, we continued to keep it that way. Between sessions they occupied themselves with a dinner at Gary Lee’s house and some sight-seeing. On one trip to Georgetown my sisters bought me a gift of cookies and candy to help lift my spirits. They were well aware of my sweet tooth and knew just what might help to lift me out of the despair that we were all fighting. Except for two outings, one to dinner and one to church on Sunday morning, my father refused to leave his hotel room. Though I did not know it at the time, we shared the same sequestered experiences, each of us isolated in a rented room while events over which no one seemed to have control plunged ahead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Back in my hotel room that evening, I took a much welcomed shower. Alone with my thoughts momentarily, I struggled to sort out what had happened and what to do next. My head spun. I changed into the most comfortable thing I could find in my hurriedly packed suitcase—a sweater and jeans—and prepared to watch the hearing as the committee readjourned.
While I was waiting, I took out a handwritten