It’s 4:40 a.m. Sleep is out of the question. Brett Kavanaugh — partisan hack, perjurer and attempted rapist — seems headed to the Supreme Court.
I’ve already brewed a cup of coffee. And I’ve already called any senator who might conceivably tip the scales against this undeserving, self-entitled swine who thinks he’s owed a seat on the highest court in the land. He went to Georgetown Prep, didn’t he? He was number one in his class! He went to Yale Law!
Susan Collins, Lisa Murkowski, Jeff Flake. Does any one of them have a spine? I suppose there’s a teeny, tiny shred of hope that two of them might prevent this ghastly calamity from transpiring. But I doubt it.
We’ve already got one right-wing perjurer on the court. Isn’t that enough? We’ve already got one abuser of women who’s mere presence sullies the single branch of government that is supposed to epitomize fairness and justice. Isn’t that enough?
Little about yesterday’s Judiciary Committee hearing surprised me. I expected Dr. Christine Blasey Ford to be dignified and compelling. I expected her every word to ring true. And I expected the Republican senators to behave like partisan monsters. I will confess, however, that I didn’t expect Lindsey Graham to have an apoplectic seizure in the midst of the proceedings. And I didn’t expect Brett Kavanaugh, as much as I revile him, to lie under oath with such impunity. Evasion and obfuscation, yes, these were inevitable. Outright, transparent perjury? No. No. No.
Over and over again, he lied. He lied about matters large and small. Pint-sized lies, medium-sized lies, gargantuan lies. Implausible assertions flowed from his chapped, pinched lips in a rush more powerful than his torrent of crocodile tears.
To cite just one:
What was the reference to Renate Alumnius that he and his gang of bullying, beer-swilling buds all inserted into their high school yearbook profiles? Clearly this was a demeaning taunt intended to shame the poor girl as a slut and a hussy, a play toy for horny little brats who felt entitled to have their way with her and snicker about it.
Right before our eyes, Kavanaugh transformed this vile insult into a compliment. Renate was a lovely gal, he insisted. She was a dear friend. They only mentioned her because they held her in such high esteem. Never mind the fact that the day before Kavanaugh delivered his perjury-strewn peroration, this very same Renate had expressed dismay over the smear.
When he wasn’t faux crying or spewing venom, Kavanaugh came across as a sort of unctuous Wally Cleaver, with his aw-shucks, I love sports and hard work, I’ve got nothing but respect for women protestations.
So much of what he said was ridiculous and disqualifying. Never mind the lies, which were too abundant to enumerate here in any detail. His unbridled rage betrayed a temperament that was anything but judicial. His paranoid, partisan delusions were shocking. The rape accusations, he averred, had all been orchestrated by the Clintons as part of some elaborate revenge scheme.
How fucking absurd.
Almost absurd as his preposterous calendar defense. He waved that damned thing around even though it was more incriminating than exculpatory. It included a notation about a July 1st party with P.J. and Scooter or some otherwise dorkily named frat boy — the very people that Dr. Ford had indicated were present on the night she was assaulted. It was at precisely this point that Lindsey Graham began to convulse in a strategically timed diversion from the nominee’s naked prevarications.
Republican outrages always make me sputter. Does the fact that I was sexually assaulted at summer camp make me even more apoplectic than usual about their repugnant performance on this particular matter? Probably. Even though I’m a man, I empathize with Dr. Ford. I know that the damage wrought by sexual assault is life altering and long lasting. I understand why it often takes years for a victim to talk about it.
But even if my camp counselor had treated the 9-year-old me with the care and concern that I had rightfully expected, my head would be exploding from yesterday’s despicable performance by eleven white male troglodytes who will do absolutely anything to keep the court in conservative hands.
It’s enough to make anyone feel helpless. Nevertheless, however Sisyphusian it may seem, I implore you to call the following handful of Republican senators who might just conceivably do the right thing:
Susan Collins, 202-224-2523
Lisa Murkowski, 202-224-6665
Jeff Flake, 202-224-4521
I’m going to try to go back to sleep now. Wish me luck.