Executive Session

Floor Speech

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Mr. COONS. Mr. President, it was a week ago today that Members of the Senate Judiciary Committee, on which I serve, were riveted by the compelling and powerful testimony of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford. It was a week ago today that Judge Brett Kavanaugh delivered his forceful rejoinder and rebuttal.

Today I want to take a moment and share with Members of this Chamber and folks who may be watching something else that was happening during this entire hearing that I did not expect. It was powerful and unique and special in my experience as a public servant, and I have heard, as I have listened to other Senators of both parties who were present and with whom I talked to afterward, it was their experience as well:

This conversation is bigger. It is bigger, it is pressing, and, I would say, it is more important than the question of one Supreme Court seat and one current nominee. It is a question that we, as a country at the highest levels of power, believe victims and survivors of sexual assault and are willing to listen to them, to believe them, and to take action.

So what was it that happened last Thursday? As I tried to pay attention to the remarkable testimony of Dr. Ford, my phone was blowing up. I got texts, I got instant messages, I got phone calls, I got emails, I got Facebook posts--I got messages in more ways that you can connect with me than I knew was possible. These were stories--powerful stories--stories that friends of mine, people I have known for years or decades, people I barely know or people I hope to get to meet. They were sharing with me stories of assault. They were told by classmates, neighbors, friends, constituents, people who had carried these burdens alone for years.

These stories are difficult to hear, but it is important that they be heard. It is important to understanding why survivors stay silent, and it is important to understanding why we, as a body and a nation, must get this moment right. They are important to understanding why the President and others are wrong when they say that if a victim's allegations are true, she would have filed a report or come forward decades ago.

In response to the question, why didn't Dr. Christine Blasey Ford come forward earlier, I have just this experience to share. The texts and emails, the conversations in person and over the phone, with friends I have known for so long and friends I have just met, make it powerfully clear to me that the many ways in which assault and violation happens in our country between people have as many different reasons why they hide them, carry them, and keep them in darkness and quiet and in shame, and each one of those stories reminds me even more powerfully the reasons we must--we must--demonstrate that they are heard.

One friend from Delaware, a cancer survivor--someone I have spoken about on this floor before because of her survival of a nearly life- ending cancer--confided in me she was terrorized and raped as a small child. Living with the effects of that experience, she said, has been way harder than cancer. She said to me early childhood trauma can be murky and difficult to describe and doesn't lend itself easily to a courtroom narrative understanding. She is right.

A male friend, someone I know from high school, shared with me an experience he had during a spring break trip. He shared how, on a biology field trip to Mexico, when he sought help from a trip organizer after snorkeling fins blistered his ankles, after administering first aid in the hotel room, he was assaulted. His comment was he was too shocked to call for help and did not tell anyone for over three decades.

He is right. She is right. They are not alone.

Today I want to share a few more stories shared over the last weeks by brave men and women who are shining a light on the challenges, the fear, the shame, and the anger surrounding sexual assault. This is under the hashtag ``Why I Didn't Report.'' I think it helps lend some understanding to the dynamics of surviving assault.

Under the hashtag ``Why I Didn't Report'': ``I had known him for years,'' one victim said.

Why I didn't report:

Because he was ``sorry.'' Because I was drunk. Because I was young and ashamed and felt like I had somehow asked for it even though I had said NO and STOP. . . . Because even typing this still makes me feel it all again.

Another, in response to this hashtag, said:

Because my counselor said they won't believe you because you're not a pretty girl.

Another said:

I blamed myself. I was humiliated and hurt. I thought they were my friends. I felt safe until I wasn't and then it was too late. I wanted to wash it away and never think about it again.

Another said:

Because I feel ashamed of what happened and didn't want to publicly ruin someone's life, even though they privately ruined mine.

Because:

He was my boyfriend and I was sleeping. He told me he had been accused of this before and it wasn't rape because we were dating.

Another victim posted:

My mom did report my 18 year old cousin when I was 9. I had to testify sitting across a table from him. I froze and cried, couldn't speak. All charges were dropped.

Earlier this week, at a townhall at the Delaware City Fire Company, someone I have known for decades got out of her car, came up to me, gave me a huge hug, and, weeping, said: I never told my husband, I never told my son, and today I have. In her voice, there was both heavy emotion and an enormous sense of relief--and, I have to say, for me, a sense of great pain that I was wishing I could do nothing except sit and listen, to honor her story, to provide some sense of comfort and support and recognition. Yet I had to move on to the townhall after a few moments.

At a dinner here in Washington just last night, someone shared with me an amazing story of her daughter's suffering. To hear a story of that power and pain in the midst of a social setting is both wonderful, in that they are trusting with a story they have held on to for so long, and terrible, in that it is a reminder of the ways in which we speak to each other of surviving assault in hushed tones and in dark corners and on the internet and anonymously.

Whatever comes out of this week, whatever comes out of the proceedings of this floor today, tomorrow, and this weekend, we must listen and recognize that hundreds of thousands of American women and men have been victims, are victims, and will be victims, of sexual assault--and, according to our Department of Justice, at least two- thirds have never reported it.

There is an ocean of pain in this Nation not yet fully heard, not yet appropriately resolved, not yet fully addressed. Everyone--everyone-- everyone within earshot of my voice--the women and men in this Chamber, staff, journalists, colleagues, friends, members of the public, those who think Brett Kavanaugh should be a Supreme Court Justice and those who do not, those who have either themselves been victimized by assault or know someone, a loved one, a family member, a neighbor, a classmate, a fellow parishioner, a colleague, or a friend--we all--all--have an opportunity here, a moment, to make it clear that we welcome and will respect and listen to and act on stories that have been and will be shared with us and that we will act.

If I could make one request, it would be that we come out on the other side of these last few weeks with an awareness of those who are in silent, deep, and lonely pain--often right next to us, all around us, in our families, in our churches, in our workplaces, and in our communities--and that we give them the listening, the understanding, and the embrace to help them heal.

You know, in today's hyperpartisan environment, where we are quick to question motives of others and search for any excuse to discredit, devalue, and doubt, I also wanted to add one small but I think important point: Every victim who has spoken to me in the past week was not looking for anything. They were not looking for a settlement. They were not looking for some lawsuit. They were simply looking for acknowledgement. They were looking to share something they have carried too long alone. They just wanted to be heard.

Our country is watching. This is a moment where the Senate as an institution and the country as a whole need to show we can and will do better. I hope we will listen--that we will listen as we continue to move forward important legislation: the Violence Against Women Act, which my predecessor, then-Senator Biden, helped champion in a bipartisan way over several Congresses; the Victims of Child Abuse Act, which even now I am working with a bipartisan team to try to get through this Chamber to be reauthorized. There are many more things we can and should do to work to combat sexual abuse and sexual assault and to help prevent and heal.

What I most want to say today, to my friends and acquaintances, to my constituents and my community, to my Nation and the world that may well be watching this moment in the United States, to those whose stories I have just shared and whose stories I have just heard, I simply want to say this: You have touched my heart deeply. I hear you, and I thank you.

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