Vindication: Two Men Admit They, Not Brett Kavanaugh, Had Sexual Encounter with Blasey-Ford

Sometimes rumors aren’t rumors. They’re just facts that are still in the oven. In scalding infernal misery, right alongside nominees for the U.S. Supreme court.

And so Mister and Mister rumor finally arrive. Two men succumbing to the crushing irrepressible burden of national consequence to tell decades-old secrets about their connection to a case altering the course of history before our very eyes. Two men with everything to lose, nothing to gain, and no political sainthood on the line for telling the truth, the whole truth at long last. Only infamy and regret.

On their arrival, poised at the very moment of testimony and allegation by Dr. Christine Blasey Ford against a Supreme Court nominee, Ms. Blasey Ford owes not testimony and reinforced accusation, but an apology to Brett Kavanaugh, his wife, his children and his friends.

Beyond that, she owes an apology to America and to the women of this nation who actually experience sexual assault and whose only pathway to justice is found in their credibility and the reservation of these types of serious, life altering accusations for time, place and occasion when the offense is criminal, the details are sound and the identity of the attacker is vivid and clear and not subject to history altering opportunism of hazy memory unsheathed to destroy a political opponent.

Christine owes too many apologies to count. She may very likely owe much more.

In 1994, a California jury awarded a successful executive $9-million after memory regression therapy resulted in a spontaneous defamatory allegation from his daughter of 11-years of sexual abuse by her father, which she later recanted. Gary Ramona lost his marriage, his career, his friends and community esteem. And the love of his daughter. Daddy’s little girl. What has Brett Kavanaugh lost? Anyone keeping a running tally?

When I was told two days ago about the testimony of the two men who came forward to clear Brett Kavanaugh’s name, I was given express orders to say nothing, as one can only presume were any others who knew. For obvious reasons. Not the least of which was an opportunity to make an example of a woman willing to walk to the very edge of felony perjury, abandoned by her own claimed witnesses, contradicted by her own testimony, betrayed by her political etymology and lineage and repudiated by two men willing to shame themselves for honest process to turn aside a malevolent political assassin, lost in her own narcissistic spy game where one teenage moment shrouded in beer haze in a place she admittedly doesn’t even remember is turned into a bullet.

The story of these two men is a drama unto itself. The first, a willing confessor, moved by conscience and convinced of himself that his only righteous recourse was to give public airing to his long covered sin, rather than watching it be hung like a millstone around the neck of an undeserving convict. Convincing his friend was another matter entirely and sources say that most of the lag between the beginning of the Blasey-Ford calculated lynching of Brett Kavanaugh to today’s stunning revelations can be found in conversations between the two and an eventual mutually arrived resignation that telling the truth was their only choice.

Pity it is that pscychology professors with George Soros’s cell number aren’t similarly motivated to be similarly swayed by conscience. Pity.

This moment should be both rightful face and overdue tombstone of the #METOO movement and the ridiculous notion lofted over a year ago, that regardless of accuser, regardless of accused and regardless of fact, the human being with the vagina deserves to be believed, while the Maryland boy who didn’t lose his virginity until 22, studied by some accounts 20 hours a day, strove to be the top of his classes in high school, college and law school and emerged as one of the truly brilliant legal minds in our national history was defamed, ignored, piloried and assumed guilty by a nation of spiteful, vindictive, uneducated, simpering feminist fools, out for a political kill. Brett Kavanaugh deserved better. The good, decent, honorable men of America still deserve better. And actual victims of sexual assault, abuse and mistreatment deserve far, far better than to have their only pathway to credible justice littered by the ill intentions of similar allegation of sexual misconduct turned into the singular and indefensible attack weapon on the sociopolitical stage.

Thank God that “To Kill a Mockingbird,” moments of exoneration and rightful justice still happen. Even in the unlikeliest of circumstance when Atticus Finch is the man placed on trial. Then again, old Atticus was never a Donald Trump nominee for the Supreme Court. And thank God that one man with a conscience was able to prevail on his reluctant friend to come forward in a painful moment of honesty long delayed, to at least lay the first stone in restoring the razed reputation of a man so wrongly and despicably accused. And just just as importantly, to put an excruciatingly fine point on what should be the closing chapter to an unfortunate recantation of events 400 years ago in Massachusetts, when allegations without proof played so viciously and brutally on the grudges, political lay lines and divided allegiances of a town called Salem, with deadly and terrifying result.

Only, as Brett Kavanaugh might tell you, in the 2018 version of the tale, the witches hunt you. In packs.

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