Two very important things coincided this past weekend: first, the trial involving supreme court nominee Brett Kavanaugh and his accuser Christine Blasey Ford; secondly family weekend here on campus. For some of us that led to an extremely precarious weekend. I could have gone the entire weekend without talking to my parents, but more specifically my extremely conservative father, about the sexual assault case.
As luck would have it, the case was one of the first things we talked about over Thai food on Thursday night. I have heard the arguments of conservatives over this controversial case but now I got to hear them from my own father! His defense of Kavanaugh started. “How could I believe her when he has been in power for so long?” Because the rate of false accusations is so low. Because this is the highest court in the United States. Because there are so many reasons not to report. But my father pushed harder, “Do you think a Republican would be reporting him?” No, I don’t. Not because I think Dr. Ford is lying. Because I think there is inherent internalized misogyny in women republicans. Rape culture tells us being grabbed, groped, and harassed is a compliment rather than an assault on the autonomy of our bodies.
“So, if what this keeps him out of the supreme court? Then politicians everywhere would be dropping like flies.”
“Exactly dad, and I hope they do”.
“What if [Kavanaugh] was someone (a man) you loved?” I would still believe the survivor. Men I have loved have been accused—I have stopped loving them. Women I have loved have been accused—I have stopped loving them. I have always believed the survivor.
Sometimes these realities are hard to accept, but we must believe them. Every time. Even when it hurts. Believe the survivor.
What came next was the most poignant part of the conversation.
“Mom, have you ever been groped?” I asked.
“Yeah I’m sure.” I asked my sister the same question.
“Of course.”
“I know I have,” I said. None of us have ever reported our assault, but if we saw the men that touched our bodies, as if they had the right to them, nominated to the supreme court maybe we would.
My father ignored this completely.
In this moment I knew it is not that people like my dad do not believe Dr. Christine Blasey Ford. Instead, it is that they do not care. The argument “what if it was your daughter, mother, sister, wife, lover” does not matter. My father does not care about my assault, or my sisters, or my mother’s; he certainly does not care about Christine Blasey Ford’s. He wants a “constitutionalist” in the Supreme Court and the cost to women does not matter to him.
I refuse to be silenced. Not by Republicans, not by the men that have assaulted me, and certainly not by my father. Being against Kavanaugh means speaking up on more than your Instagram story but in front of the people you care about. The people who claim to care about you.
Maybe my political beliefs have disappointed my father, but not as deeply as his have disappointed me. I am proud to disappoint my parents. I am proud to believe that sexual assault should lose you a job. That abortion is a right. That I am proud to believe in equality.
Thank you, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford. F*ck you Brett Kavanaugh and f*ck you too dad.