of his requests was a challenge to his authority. For whatever reasons, gradually his confessions about his life became more personal, more graphic, and more vulgar. I have no more details of his comments to add to my testimony. I believe, then and now, that what I said was sufficient to establish the ugliness and inappropriateness of the statements made by Thomas. What I describe here in this book attempts to put them in the context in which they occurred. As I said in the statement I sent to the Senate on September 23, 1991:
… Clarence Thomas would call me into his office for reports on education issues and projects or, if his schedule was full of outside appointments, he would suggest that we go to lunch together at one of the area government cafeterias. After a brief discussion about work, he would turn the conversation to discussions about his sexual interests. His conversations were very vivid. He spoke about acts that he had seen in pornographic films involving such things as women having sex with animals and films involving group sex or rape scenes. He talked about pornographic materials depicting individuals with large penises or breasts involved in various sex acts. I was extremely uncomfortable talking about sex with him, at all, particularly in such a graphic way, and I told him repeatedly that I didn’t want to talk
about those kinds of things. I would also try to change the subject to education matters or to nonsexual personal matters like his background or political beliefs. However, I sensed that my discomfort with his discussions only urged him on, as though my reaction of feeling ill at ease and vulnerable was exactly what he wanted
.
The second time his conversation turned sexual, I knew that I had made a mistake in taking the job with Clarence Thomas. Working as his special assistant put me in a vulnerable position. Yet my only course seemed to be standing my ground, avoiding the problem when I could, and focusing on my work. I wanted very badly to believe that the behavior would end if I continued to resist.
I had no idea where to turn for a solution to the problem. It was 1981, I was living in Washington, and I had no close family in the area. Gil Hardy was too close to Thomas to trust with the information. I had no powerful political contacts. Clarence Thomas was the most powerful and well-connected person I knew. I was so politically naive that when I met Secretary of Education Terrel Bell at a reception, I had not a clue as to who he was. “Excuse me, but I didn’t catch your name,” I said after introducing myself, to his considerable amusement. We spoke briefly afterward, and I never saw him again. I doubted I could turn to him, and I was uncertain who in the administration could be trusted. I suspected that some might do nothing and others might use the information against me. I had no reason to believe that Reagan appointees would have any interest in assisting me.
As a novice to Washington, I very much wanted to handle the situation professionally. Thus, I tried to separate my sense of personal offense from my professional role. After all, that was what I had learned as a young black woman: do your schoolwork or job and don’t take biases or insults personally. And there was another old dynamic at work. As Clarence Thomas’ assistant, I believed my professional role included protecting him. I had listened to Thomas complain that the people in the civil rights community were out to get him because he challenged the conventional way of thinking. I knew he felt that there were those in theadministration who did not trust him or his commitment to their ideals. I had to consider how my information might be misused by outsiders and by the administration. I had been schooled by Thomas not to trust either, and I worried that anyone who challenged him on the basis of my information might do so at my expense.
In conversations too embarrassing and hurtful to recall, I confided my problem to
… Clarence Thomas would call me into his office for reports on education issues and projects or, if his schedule was full of outside appointments, he would suggest that we go to lunch together at one of the area government cafeterias. After a brief discussion about work, he would turn the conversation to discussions about his sexual interests. His conversations were very vivid. He spoke about acts that he had seen in pornographic films involving such things as women having sex with animals and films involving group sex or rape scenes. He talked about pornographic materials depicting individuals with large penises or breasts involved in various sex acts. I was extremely uncomfortable talking about sex with him, at all, particularly in such a graphic way, and I told him repeatedly that I didn’t want to talk
about those kinds of things. I would also try to change the subject to education matters or to nonsexual personal matters like his background or political beliefs. However, I sensed that my discomfort with his discussions only urged him on, as though my reaction of feeling ill at ease and vulnerable was exactly what he wanted
.
The second time his conversation turned sexual, I knew that I had made a mistake in taking the job with Clarence Thomas. Working as his special assistant put me in a vulnerable position. Yet my only course seemed to be standing my ground, avoiding the problem when I could, and focusing on my work. I wanted very badly to believe that the behavior would end if I continued to resist.
I had no idea where to turn for a solution to the problem. It was 1981, I was living in Washington, and I had no close family in the area. Gil Hardy was too close to Thomas to trust with the information. I had no powerful political contacts. Clarence Thomas was the most powerful and well-connected person I knew. I was so politically naive that when I met Secretary of Education Terrel Bell at a reception, I had not a clue as to who he was. “Excuse me, but I didn’t catch your name,” I said after introducing myself, to his considerable amusement. We spoke briefly afterward, and I never saw him again. I doubted I could turn to him, and I was uncertain who in the administration could be trusted. I suspected that some might do nothing and others might use the information against me. I had no reason to believe that Reagan appointees would have any interest in assisting me.
As a novice to Washington, I very much wanted to handle the situation professionally. Thus, I tried to separate my sense of personal offense from my professional role. After all, that was what I had learned as a young black woman: do your schoolwork or job and don’t take biases or insults personally. And there was another old dynamic at work. As Clarence Thomas’ assistant, I believed my professional role included protecting him. I had listened to Thomas complain that the people in the civil rights community were out to get him because he challenged the conventional way of thinking. I knew he felt that there were those in theadministration who did not trust him or his commitment to their ideals. I had to consider how my information might be misused by outsiders and by the administration. I had been schooled by Thomas not to trust either, and I worried that anyone who challenged him on the basis of my information might do so at my expense.
In conversations too embarrassing and hurtful to recall, I confided my problem to
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