I don’t believe Christine Blasey Ford was assaulted, sexually or otherwise, by Brett Kavanaugh. I don’t believe that he and somewhere between one and three others — she’s surprisingly hazy on the details, considering their import — stood by while he locked Ford in a room and slobbered and pawed over her like a Kennedy on mescaline. I don’t believe that Kavanaugh, about whom no other allegation of anything more serious than liking basketball has ever surfaced, has ever assaulted anyone. I don’t believe that uncorroborated accusations of high school tomfoolery by witnesses who are hazy on the details ought to be enough to stop Kavanaugh from renewing a library card, much less joining the Supreme Court.
I don’t believe that Ford withheld such an explosive incident throughout Kavanaugh’s rise through the ranks of the federal judiciary. I don’t believe that she now remembers telling her husband six years ago that she was worried Kavanaugh might someday serve on the Supreme Court. I don’t believe that Senator Dianne Feinstein — who knew about these allegations months ago — held on to them out of respect for Ford’s privacy, which I don’t believe Ford ever actually wanted.
I don’t believe that the Democrats, who are now insisting that Ford be allowed to make these allegations without having to repeat them in front of the Senate panel charged with determining Kavanaugh’s fitness, are doing so for any reason other than her story will fall apart under real scrutiny. I don’t believe that the party of the Clintons, Al Franken, Keith Ellison, Bob Menendez and Harvey Weinstein gives a damn about Professor Ford. I don’t believe that she means more to them than any of the other women whom they’ve used up and then thrown out like yesterday’s tuna casserole. And I don’t believe she’ll understand that until she’s standing next to Cindy Sheehan and Sandra Fluke in the “remember me?” line at the next Democrat hate rally.
I don’t believe that the FBI, whose jurisdiction in this matter is pretty much non-existent, should be given an unspecified amount of time to investigate Ford’s allegations, especially considering Feinstein sat on them for eight weeks, ample time for the wrong agency to conduct a thorough look at a guy whom they’ve already thoroughly vetted. And I don’t believe that the Democrats don’t know that eight weeks would be just enough to put the confirmation vote on the far side of Election Day.
I don’t believe that I shouldn’t care about Rep. Robert (Beto) O’Rourke (D-New York Fundraisers) and his documented episode of drunk freeway bumper cars, but I should deplore Kavanaugh and a story which is not only undocumented, but it may even be revenge on Kavanaugh’s mother for an old foreclosure case. I don’t believe the presumption of innocence doesn’t extend to a man whose resume includes absolutely no other indications of even mildly disturbing behavior. I don’t believe the most convenient accusations of all time, levied by the most convenient accuser of all time, at the most convenient moment of all time, should even slow down Kavanaugh’s nomination, much less halt it.
I don’t believe that allegations, which the accuser herself admits she can’t recall with any degree of specificity, are anything more than a hail Mary, thrown by the people who have turned the rest of Kavanaugh’s hearings into a farce. I don’t believe they deserve anything more than a curt dismissal.