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How a climate of outrage persecuted 2 women who refused to take down Brett Kavanaugh

In what was one of the most brutal Supreme Court confirmations in American history, Brett Kavanaugh was accused of the attempted sexual assault of a 15-year-old schoolgirl, Christine Blasey Ford, when he was 17. The hearings in September 2018 became a circus, as both sides told their stories. Meanwhile, the climate of outrage extended well beyond the two main players, as detailed in the new book “Justice on Trial: The Kavanaugh Confirmation and the Future of the Supreme Court” (Regnery Publishing) by Mollie Hemingway and Carrie Severino, out Tuesday. In this adapted excerpt, it is revealed how two women — a senator and a friend of Ford’s — also faced a torrent of abuse for simply trying to do what they believed was right …

Shutting down a senator

Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell still didn’t know what Susan Collins’ ultimate vote would be.





Voting to end debate was not the same as voting to confirm — as Justice Samuel Alito learned when he received 73 votes for cloture but only 58 for confirmation. If Collins voted no along with fellow Republican Lisa Murkowski and Democrat Joe Manchin, it would be over. They never broached the subject, but Collins’ manner suggested to McConnell that she was preparing to vote yes.

Protesters had been harassing Collins for months. Hundreds of coat hangers, the favored symbol of the abortion-rights movement, had been sent to her field offices in Maine to dramatize the threat to Roe v. Wade posed by Kavanaugh’s appointment. In a clever gesture, she donated the hangers to a local thrift store. She also received a torrent of obscene and threatening voicemails.





One rainy night, after working late, Collins was accosted outside her Capitol Hill townhouse by a man who shined a flashlight in her eyes and filmed her as he asked her questions, implying he was from CNN. How long he had been waiting for her in the pouring rain she didn’t know, but she got past him and into her house, where she called the police. The man returned later and left a basket containing four potatoes on her doorstep, the significance of which she never determined.

As protesters besieged her Capitol Hill and Maine offices, Collins was particularly troubled by the abuse that her staff had to endure. A 25-year-old in her Maine office, who helped constituents with Social Security, veterans’ affairs and immigration questions, answered a call from a man who told her that if Collins voted for Kavanaugh’s confirmation then he hoped the young staffer would be raped and impregnated. The senator tried to assure her that the harassment would taper off after the vote, but she quit — a young woman driven out of public service, Collins ruefully noted, in the name of women’s rights.





Protesters occupying Collins’ office would take turns telling their stories of sexual harassment or assault, emphasizing that victims must be listened to. Annabelle Rutledge, a staffer for Concerned Women for America who was in the room with a group of women supportive of Kavanaugh, decided to tell her own story. Protesters rolled their eyes but listened as Annabelle spoke of having been sexually assaulted. She explained why it was unfair to blame Kavanaugh for what her assailant did: “We can’t take the pain we have from each of these experiences and put it on one man. You said that a vote for Kavanaugh is a vote for everyone who has sexually assaulted us collectively, and that’s just not true. You can’t take the face of the people who have hurt you and have hurt other people in this room and put it on one man,” she said. “I’m a woman but I’m also a sister, I’m a daughter, I am a niece. I’m a sister to four brothers. I’m an aunt to three nephews.”





The room erupted into angry shouts as women who insisted on “believing all women” challenged Rutledge’s story. A couple of women approached Rutledge later to apologize for the rudeness of the crowd. Her powerful message was shared by many women supporting Kavanaugh.

Liberal activist groups tried to strong-arm Collins by raising $1 million to confer on an opponent’s campaign if she voted for Kavanaugh, a tactic that some election law experts considered dangerously close to a bribe. But the senator was unmoved. “In all my years of public service, I’ve never seen a debate as ugly as this one,’’ she had observed several weeks earlier. “These attempts to pressure me are not going to be a factor in my decision.”

On the day she revealed her decision, several protesters started shouting and were removed from the room. Collins began by lamenting that special-interest groups and Democratic senators had announced their opposition to Kavanaugh from the moment of his nomination. One colleague even opposed the nomination before it was announced and had misrepresented his judicial record.

“Our Supreme Court confirmation process has been in steady decline for more than 30 years,” she said. “One can only hope that the Kavanaugh nomination is where the process has finally hit rock bottom.”

After speaking for 43 minutes, she finished by saying, “Mr. President, I will vote to confirm Judge Kavanaugh.” With that, Kavanaugh’s confirmation was virtually assured, even though the vote wouldn’t take place until the next day.

After her speech, Republican Chuck Grassley approached Collins with tears in his eyes and gave her a hug. That had never happened before, and she was touched by the gesture from a senator whose composure and fairness had never failed through all the partisan hostility.

The next day, protesters were camped out as Collins left her house to head to her office on Saturday. They started singing and chanting early that morning.

As she locked up, she apologized to a neighbor for the noise. He told her the protesters’ songs and chants were beautiful, but living next to a “rape apologist” was what troubled him.

After the confirmation, Sen. Susan Collins continued to receive hate mail and threats, including to her family. On Oct. 15, as she was traveling home from Washington, her husband texted her a photo of himself in full hazmat gear. An envelope addressed to him had contained a letter that purported to be infused with ricin.

By the time Collins finished her stressful two-hour drive from Portland, her street was blocked off with yellow crime-scene tape and her home taken over by the local police and fire department, the FBI and the army’s weapons of mass destruction unit. The house was quarantined, including their black Lab puppy. Their neighbors rushed to their aid, and a local Chinese restaurant and a Wendy’s tried to figure out how to break the blockade and get their favorite meals to them. A few days later another envelope was sent to her home labeled “anthrax.”

Postal inspectors intercepted it and after determining it contained cornstarch, traced it to the sender, who was charged with sending threatening communications.

It’s hard to imagine how a confirmation battle could compete with Kavanaugh’s for ugliness. But if the next appointment portends a major ideological shift, it could be worse. When President Ronald Reagan had a chance to replace Lewis Powell, a swing vote, with Robert Bork, Democrats went to the mat to oppose him. When Thurgood Marshall, one of the court’s most liberal members, stood to be replaced by Clarence Thomas, the battle got even uglier. And trading the swing vote Sandra Day O’Connor for Alito triggered an attempted filibuster.

As nasty as Kavanaugh’s confirmation battle became, he is unlikely to shift the court dramatically. Except on abortion and homosexuality, Justice Kennedy usually voted with the conservatives. If Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg were to retire while Trump was in the White House, the resulting appointment would probably be like the Thomas-for-Marshall trade. Compared with what might follow, the Kavanaugh confirmation might look like the good old days of civility.

Vicious confirmation battles will unfortunately dissuade the best Americans from being considered for the nation’s judiciary.

One of Kavanaugh’s colleagues says the process is so tough that it isn’t worth it as a career move, but only out of a sense of duty or vocation. “Personally I don’t wish that on anybody. But when you’re called — think of the men whom we send into harm’s way. Think of the Marines storming the beaches in World War II. If you think you’re being asked to give more than them, don’t do it.”

Unfortunately, the only reason many other good people will continue to sign up for the job is the naive belief that it won’t happen to them precisely because they are good people. But it can happen, it does happen, and it just happened. The big unknown is whether America will let it happen again.

Flaying of a friend

Leland Keyser, a registered Democrat, was opposed to Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation to the Supreme Court. But Keyser was completely taken aback when the Senate Judiciary Committee asked her about the allegation made by her old high-school friend Christine Blasey Ford against the judge.

Keyser and Ford, who met in seventh grade, were part of a close circle of friends at Holton-Arms who still keep in touch. Keyser had attended Ford’s wedding, but apart from a brief exchange at a gathering of high-school friends, she had had little interaction with her in the past 10 years. The past five years in particular had been difficult. Keyser’s health challenges included daily chronic pain and addiction, and she had recently had a knee replaced.

On June 28, 2018, the day after Justice Anthony Kennedy announced his retirement, Ford sent Keyser a Facebook Messenger note out of the blue. It read, “Kinda freaking out that Brett K who tried to rape me in high school may be going on to the Supreme Court.” It was the first time Keyser had ever heard about the alleged assault, and she found the message both surprising and alarming.

On Monday, Sept. 17, the day after a Washington Post story about Ford was published, Keyser’s housekeeper came up to her bedroom to tell her that a friend was waiting for her downstairs. She came down to find Emma Brown, the reporter from the Post, sitting at her kitchen table. Brown identified herself and began talking about the night of the alleged assault. When asked, Keyser said she believed her friend Christine.

As interest in Keyser mounted, press vehicles blocked the road to her home, and she was forced to move into a hotel. Keyser had no idea she was going to be named as a participant at the gathering in question, had never spoken to Ford about it and had not heard from Ford or her lawyer either before or immediately after the story was published. She tried to get in touch with Ford for help understanding why she was being targeted but couldn’t reach her until Wednesday, Sept. 19, and then only briefly. Ford said she had never told her about what happened. She tried to talk some more about the alleged incident so she might recall it better. Other than suggesting Keyser was the driver that night, Ford had nothing else to offer.

The Senate Judiciary Committee, which by this point had heard that Keyser was one of Ford’s named witnesses, sent her an e-mail requesting information. After much effort, Keyser knew two things: She had no recollection of the event Ford described, and she did not know Brett Kavanaugh. She felt that it was important to say this, which she did, through her attorney, in her first written statement submitted to the Senate Judiciary Committee. After the statement went public, Keyser texted Ford on Sept. 22, “I wish I could have been more supportive and that my statement was more helpful.”

Keyser was upset that Kavanaugh repeatedly referred to her statement in his testimony to “refute” Ford’s account. She informed friends and her lawyer in text messages that Kavanaugh’s use of her statement angered her. She had already told a reporter that she believed Ford and felt this statement had been overlooked.

Perhaps motivated by Keyser’s texts, one of these friends, a woman, called Keyser’s lawyer and insisted that he and Keyser had both perjured themselves. She was certain that Keyser must have known Kavanaugh.

After all, she reasoned, Keyser had dated Mark Judge, and Judge was always with Kavanaugh. In fact, however, Keyser had gone on only one date with Judge, to a very large house party, and she had no recollection of Kavanaugh’s being there or of ever meeting him.

Pressure to corroborate Ford’s story also came from outside Keyser’s circle of friends. Sara Corcoran, a journalist who was several years behind Ford and Keyser at Holton-Arms, published an aggressive open letter that recounted the paralysis of Keyser’s high-school boyfriend, Bill, in the Columbia Country Club pool.

“I still remember the chaotic scene, the paramedics, and the shock of what happened. Our parents often warned us about diving into the shallow end or at any depth.” Corcoran continued: “It was incredibly unfair to both of you that Bill broke his neck and died shortly thereafter. You were an inspiration to those of us young members at the club and students at Holton-Arms School. I am asking you [to be] an inspiration to us again by coming to the defense of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford.”

Playing on the trauma and guilt she had tried to stir up, Corcoran went on, “I know it seems like it is easier to turn away and revisiting the past is never easy, but your statements harmed the validity of Dr. Ford. … There was nothing you could have done to save Bill from the fate that awaited him, but you can save Christine.”





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