I shake with fury when I think about how, in the Democrats’ dishonest and despicable rhetoric, a man of the highest integrity is already an all-but-proven rapist.

Four years before Brett Kavanaugh was writing in his calendar in the summer of 1982, my family immigrated to this country. Before our plane landed at John F. Kennedy International Airport, my teenage imagination saw America as a land of skyscrapers from coast to coast.

I imagined the senators and congressmen as wise and thoughtful. I imagined freedom, success, and money. Perhaps I imagined due process, although I didn’t yet know that word (where we came from, there wasn’t much of it). I had heard of the concept of “innocent until proven guilty,” however, as strange as it sounded then.

This last Friday night, I spoke to my 81-year-old father. We talked of his health, and then he surprised me. “Can you believe this outrage in the Senate?” he said, his voice trembling with rage. “How can they do this to this man? How?”

We rarely talk politics. I am a lawyer in a small private practice about four hours’ drive from him, and neither of us has the inclination for lengthy political discussions. Both of us might have once been called liberal Republicans. We voted for Trump with great reluctance. Since 2016, however, I have not regretted my vote for one instant.

I didn’t think my father followed the goings-on in Washington. My initial response was: “I’d rather not talk about it, or I’ll pop an artery in my brain.” But then I told him: “You live in New Jersey. Guess what? Your senator is up for re-election, and he is a corrupt Democrat. Talk to your friends. Get them to vote for the Republican in November. This time, you have a chance.”

Again, he surprised me. He said he doesn’t need to talk to them, they are already planning to vote Republican. Every single one of them. “Tell them to talk to their friends,” I said. “Tell them to get every one of their friends to vote.” “I will,” he said, “I must.” So there will be a few more people voting against Sen. Bob Menendez five weeks from now.

There Was a Lot More Material in Ford’s Testimony

I streamed the Kavanaugh hearings on my laptop and to my phone as we walked our dog. I had to mute the sound of the Democratic senators, with their insincere platitudes, preening, fake and utterly hypocritical expressions of concern for Kavanaugh accuser Christine Blasey Ford, their tedious grandstanding. Listening to Sen. Dianne “I don’t know who leaked it” Feinstein or to Sen. Spartacus for longer than a few seconds endangers one’s mental health.

Ford didn’t sound like a flake or a liar. Two minutes into prosecutor Rachel Mitchell’s questioning, that sinking feeling of dread began digging its steel claws into my stomach. She asked Ford if she was on medication, blah, blah. These are good questions, and I’ve asked them myself in a deposition. But here, every second was precious, and every second she wasted was another that Kavanaugh was sliding into the abyss.

Yes, Mitchell was gentle and sympathetic, but where was the substance? Minutes dragged by, and she barely chipped away at the inconsistencies, the lack of memory, the lack of details, the lack of corroboration of any kind, and the fact that even Ford’s friend could not substantiate her story.

A million better questions come to mind. Why didn’t Mitchell ask about all the other women who came forward to support Kavanaugh? Were all of them dupes? Or fools? What about the binge drinking proudly listed in Ford’s yearbook? The “party girl” nickname from high school? With the fate of Supreme Court on the line, how is this not worth a few questions? Ford was a future binge drinker who “only” had one beer?

Why didn’t Mitchell harp on a complete and utter lack of any actual evidence of anything, except Ford’s uncorroborated words decades later? Why did she not harp on the existence of contrary evidence? Why did she not harp on the fact that Ford wasn’t even 100 percent certain of the year when the events took place, and that she can’t remember where, or when, or how she got there, or how she got back?

Surely she couldn’t have walked to the party; that is obvious. Make Ford repeat this ten times if you have to! Time dragged on, and where were the questions? After several hours, Mitchell’s “successes” were picayune.

Kavanaugh’s Defense Was Spectacular

Hiring a woman may have been a stroke of genius, but Republicans once again shot themselves in the foot. Mitchell was the wrong woman for the job. By 2:30 p.m., it was clear that Kavanaugh was finished.

And then Kavanaugh spoke. It was, perhaps, the most powerful speech I have ever heard in real time. Kavanaugh was amazing. Spectacular. Incredible. Kavanaugh did the impossible: he actually demonstrated, against all odds, in a setting stacked against him in every way, that there is persuasive contrary evidence.

He turned it all around. He united any wavering Republicans out here, in the real world, under his banner. He finally let the Democrats know that they won’t cow him. Hours later, I told someone that I felt privileged to have heard his speech.

Far too many of our flaky congressional Republicans let the Democrats win the narrative, and Kavanaugh finally punched back. Yes, Kavanaugh was enraged at the Democrats, and so was I! So were tens of millions of us Republicans who suffer quietly, our voices silenced by the PC police and the leftist sycophantic media. Sen. Amy Klobuchar and Sen. Richard Blumenthal could badger him for hours with idiotic questions about high school yearbooks, or why he won’t ask for an FBI investigation of himself, and they still couldn’t rattle him.

I shake with fury when I think about how, in the Democrats’ dishonest and despicable rhetoric, a man of the highest integrity is already an all-but-proven rapist—they barely bother with the “alleged.” After all, there are “serious allegations” out there that he was part of a heinous gang that drugged and raped women on numerous occasions, all while in high school. And the same women (or just one woman?) kept coming back, over and over, to the drug-and-rape parties inspired and led by the 17-year-old Kavanaugh?

Who wouldn’t believe such “credible allegations”? What’s rape on a boat in Rhode Island, also allegedly perpetrated by Kavanaugh in 1986, compared to an entire rape gang?

This Isn’t About Kavanaugh, This Is About Everyone

The next step in the progressive hate parade is straightforward: Kavanaugh is a serial rapist and killer who buries his victims in his back yard. (Pardon me, an alleged serial rapist and killer—he hasn’t been convicted yet, which is a minor inconvenience for the left, but only a minor one.) But worry not. Stormy Daniels and her reptiloid lawyer are on the case.

I shake with fury when I think about how Democrats are using Ford, a woman with memory and documented psychological issues, in a calculated vicious campaign of obstruction, character assassination, and destruction of one of our finest judges. If they can do this to him, they can do it to anyone. And we all know they will do it to anyone. We all know this is the new normal: weaponizing sexual misconduct allegations, however uncorroborated, however improbable, however lurid or bizarre, against Republican nominees. Everyone is vulnerable. Everyone.

I shake with fury when I think of how this farcical confirmation process is symptomatic of what Democrats are doing to our country.

I shake with fury when I think about Sen. Jeff Flake, and the idiotic one-week delay stunt that the Judas of the Republican Party agreed to at the urging of the duplicitous Democrats. If ever there was a man whose last name embodied his spiritual essence, it surely is him. If he ever shows up at a Republican gathering anywhere, he should surely be tarred and feathered.

I shake with fury when I think of how this farcical confirmation process is symptomatic of what Democrats are doing to our country, from workplaces to universities, from old media to new media, from schools to kindergardens. Everyone is now vulnerable to the wildest accusations of sexual impropriety, with no proof needed, since the charges are inherently unprovable, and one must always believe the victim.

I shudder to think of what it’s like to be a young man today, in this environment. It used to be that the worst that could happen is that a woman said, “Sorry, I have other plans for tonight.” Now men must make sure they have their lawyer’s number on speed dial, because every date, regardless of whether she says “yes” or “no,” is a potential sexual misconduct complaint, a criminal charge, or a lawsuit.

I have followed politics for years, but have never been active, aside from voting. This year, I have volunteered to help Republican candidates.