President Trump mocked the testimony of Christine Blasey Ford at a rally in the state of Mississippi.
‘I had one beer.’ Well do you think it was… ‘Nope. It was one beer.’ Oh good. How did you get home? ‘I don’t remember.’ How did you get there? ‘I don’t remember.’ Where is the place? ‘I don’t remember.’ How many years ago was it? ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.'”
What neighborhood was it in? ‘I don’t know.’ Where’s the house? ‘I don’t know. Upstairs. Downstairs. I don’t know. But I had one beer that’s the only thing I remember.’
Mr. Trump, I was raped four times between the ages of eight and twelve. But it’s just so hard to remember. I know once was early evening. Once was early morning, sometime after midnight as everyone slept. Another was afternoon, occurring upstairs while everyone else was downstairs. The last one happened in the shower.
To be honest, I can’t remember neither the day nor the date. I don’t remember the hour. Yes, Mr. Trump. I don’t recall if was clear, sunny or rainy. I cannot remember if there was moonlight, a clouded sky, stormy or if there was a gentle breeze. I am so sorry Mr. Trump, I don’t remember the seasons. Let try to recall. Was it winter, spring, summer, or fall? Honestly, don’t remember. Does this make me evil?
I have no clue who drove me. Hmm, maybe my parents drove. Not sure Mr. Trump – I was only eight the first time. Or maybe my cousin. Maybe my cousin came to my house. Then again not all rapes occurred at the same home. Yeah, Mr. Trump, you’re right. I don’t remember.
So, Mr. Trump, am I evil? AM I EVIL?
Before responding, allow me to tell you what I do remember. I do remember my brother’s and cousin’s face. And I will never forget my brother’s friend. I do remember my clothes cut off, the scissor’s cool steel pressed against me, gliding across my skin. I do remember my brother holding me down. I do remember being tied to a bed spread eagle. I do remember my attacker’s penis rubbing against my gentiles. I do remember being sucked. I do remember that warm climax being spread over my chest. I do remember the laughter.
But Mr. Trump, I don’t remember which bedroom I was raped in. Does that make me evil?
I do remember being bathed. I do remember having to bathe my attacker in the shower. I do remember the taste and having to wash my mouth. You know Mr. Trump, I do remember hot water did not help ease the entry.
But Mr. Trump, I don’t remember which bathroom I was raped in. Does that make me evil?
And gosh Mr. Trump, I do remember being complimented. I do remember being told I was good and I had a talent for making one climax. I do remember having to oil and massage my attacker’s penis. I do remember him coming in my room, just after midnight, sliding into bed next to me. Holding me. Touching me. Inserting himself between my legs. I do remember the slow rocking motion of the bed. I do remember being forced to lick him dry.
But I don’t remember the bed. Nor which bed. Does that make me evil?
I do remember feeling so alone … ashamed … worthless. I do remember. I do remember.
So, Mr. Trump? Am I evil? Is Dr. Ford an evil person? Are those who have the courage to step forward evil? No. We’re the movement you see on the horizon.
Remember that!