I was too young then… too small and insignificant to understand what bravery looks like… to know the pain of disbelief…
I was too young to see her… too young to be moved to act on her behalf.
I was not young enough to escape her fate.
9,853 days should be long enough to figure this out.
9,853 days should be time enough to change.
And yet here I am… 9,853 days older and more broken than I ever knew I could be, watching history repeat itself while my heart pounds in fear and my voice falls back into my constricted throat.
I was too young to feel the waves. I was too young to see the rippling effect.
I was not young enough to tell the truth. I was not young enough to report, report, report!
I was too young to find the common thread that wove through our private places in secret spaces where demons like to graze.
9,853 days ago happened again today. Too young then… too scared now to let this moment pass.
I am brave enough to take a stand.
I am strong enough to carry this.
I am weary enough to scream for an end.
I am no longer letting warrior queens fight alone against a revolving world of lines so blurred they turn into laughing devil emojis flying out from the fingertips of some damn internet goblin who hides his masculinity beneath the desperate urges of his groin.
I say enough.
I say it louder and clearer and a hell of a lot meaner than I’ve ever said it before.
I say time’s up, and I mean today because the clock kept ticking for 9,853 days even though the brake was pulled by so many broken bodies and tortured souls.
I say we change our rhetoric and up our ante and refuse to remain the children we were when the alarm bells were ringing, and we went out to play because we were too young to have a say in what our future would bring.
Today I am old enough to know that my children are not too young to add their voices to the scream that will tear down the fabric wrapping the illusion of change these past 9,853 days tricked us into believing was real.
Join me. Stop the clock and reset time. Change the direction this crazy train is on. And let’s see what we can do when we stop holding our breath and rise out of these ashes.
I am Anita Hill.
I am Christine Blasey Ford.
And you will hear me roar.
Originally published on The Times of Israel.
One thought on “Anita Hill, Christine Blasey Ford, and me”
Thank yoou for this
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