Speaking Truth to Power Read Free

no amount of autumn sunshine could have made it cheerful under the circumstances, I tried to look upon the tree as a reminder that seasons change and this, too, would pass.
    There were two televisions in my room, each perched precariously on stands shaky from use. Both of them were on as I watched Thomas’ testimony intently. It never occurred to me not to watch it. In my heart I was sure that he would acknowledge the immorality of his behavior, however obliquely, and offer an explanation, if not an apology. And though I was shocked by his “categorical denial,” it did not change what I had to do. After listening to Thomas, I left the hotel with my attorney Charles Ogletree and my friend-turned-legal-adviser Sonia Jarvis, and we made our way to the Russell Building in the northeast quadrant of Capitol Hill, where the hearing was being held.
    Rushed from the car into the Rules Committee room, I had no time to prepare for what I learned would be a full day of testimony. Someone informed the Judiciary Committee of my arrival. By then Thomas had left the hearing room, and the committee had assembled in a room adjacent to the caucus room. Chairman Biden insisted that my testimony begin immediately. The Capitol policemen escorted me out of the Rules Committee room, instructing me to stand immediately behind them as they led me and my advisers down the corridor to the caucus room for my testimony.
    We walked swiftly through a gauntlet of reporters and camera operators filling the hallways. Every one of our steps echoed down the long corridor of the Russell Building, with its fifteen-foot ceiling. Senate staffers stepped out of their offices to watch the parade. As I walked down that corridor, I was certain that every journalist in the country was there. I was wrong. There were far more in the caucus room—reporters, photographers, camera operators, crew members—all waiting to capture the story.
    The scene inside the hearing room startled me momentarily. Thefocal point of the large room was a long table draped in a bright green cloth. At the center of the table sat a single microphone, a glass of water, and a name card: “Professor Anita Hill.” I sat down in the lone chair at the table. Immediately to my right and left were throngs of photographers; behind me were my advisers, more journalists, staffers, and other nameless observers. In front of me, facing me and the bank of journalists, was the Senate Judiciary Committee—fourteen white men dressed in dark gray suits. I questioned my decision to wear bright blue linen, though it hadn’t really been a decision; that suit was the only appropriate and clean suit in my closet when I hastily packed for Washington two days before. In any case, it offered a fitting contrast.
    Senator Biden called the hearing to order, explained the procedure the committee would follow, and swore me in. After I finished reading my statement, he gave me that smile and said, “Professor, before I begin my questioning, I notice that there are a number of people sitting behind you. Are any of them your family members you would like to introduce?”
    “Well, actually my family members have not arrived yet,” I said with regret and anxiety. Sue Ross, one of my attorneys, whispered that my family was waiting in the hallway. “Yes, they have,” I corrected myself. “They are outside the door. They were not here for my statement.”
    “We will make room for your family to be able to sit,” said the chairman.
    “It is a very large family, Senator.”
    A short time later, my relatives began filing into the hearing room. Each took a turn greeting me. My mother, who would be eighty in five days, embraced me as cameras flash-froze the moment for posterity. Chairs were shifted around and brought in from adjacent rooms.
    “We will try to get a few more chairs, if possible, but we should get this under way.” Senator Biden was beginning to sound a bit impatient.
    By now, the entire first row had been