Thats not how my auto correct spells it.
Defending Brett Kavanaugh
- Thread starter basilio
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Statute is a legal term for law and precedents etc.. Statue is a carved piece of marble, always with broken arms
Statute is a legal term for law and precedents etc.. Statue is a carved piece of marble, always with broken arms
Yeah I know.
The one time I'm lazy to edit and darkie pings me for it.
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Yeah I know.
The one time I'm lazy to edit and darkie pings me for it.
Yea, he is a bit of a prick
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Well... that is.. PRICELESS.. ! Yes indeed the boy still has his 1982 calenders detailing all those special things teenagers do.
This is the death of satire in the US.
The next candidate for Nomination to the Supreme Court wants to offer a 36 year old calender diary as proof that he didn't do something he really shouldn't have.
And I guess his Republician mates think that's just fine.
The worst thing about it is that its more evidence then ford put up. A bloody drinking diary from a pisspot teenager.Well... that is.. PRICELESS.. ! Yes indeed the boy still has his 1982 calenders detailing all those special things teenagers do.
This is the death of satire in the US.
The next candidate for Nomination to the Supreme Court wants to offer a 36 year old calender diary as proof that he didn't do something he really shouldn't have.
And I guess his Republician mates think that's just fine.
At least he wrote it on a bit of paper I suppose.
What exactly is the "solid" evidence in the whole story at this time?
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What we are learning about the culture around George Town Prep in the early 80's
Four reasons why Christine Blasey Ford’s credibility keeps rising
.... Second, we know a lot more about the culture at Georgetown Prep in North Bethesda than we did a week ago. The atmosphere and experiences of contemporaries fit Ford’s recollections. The Post reports:
They described parties with kegs of beer and bottles of liquor, grain punch, heavy drinking and drug use that took place almost every weekend and even on weeknights in private homes, parks, open fields and golf courses in Maryland and Washington. Until 1986, the drinking age in Washington was 18, and alcohol was easily accessible. Drugs, especially cocaine and quaaludes, were plentiful.
Women who attended those parties remember sexually aggressive behavior by some of the male students that often bordered on assault and was routinely fueled by excessive drinking.
“Most of the guys at these schools were really decent, nice guys, but there was a small minority that was popular and was out of control,” said a woman who attended Georgetown Visitation in the early 1980s and asked not to be identified. “I never got dragged into a bedroom, but that . . . happened to girls all the time.”
Kavanaugh either participated in this drinking culture (as appears from yearbook comments, as well as comments from his friend Mark Judge), in which case he’s a rotten witness (whose reported inebriation renders him less credible), or he didn’t, in which case there has been an elaborate plot to portray him as an excessive drinker. There has been no effort, so far, to disassociate him from the party culture that existed when he attended the school.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/news...dibility-keeps-rising/?utm_term=.03010bfd4b6d
Four reasons why Christine Blasey Ford’s credibility keeps rising
.... Second, we know a lot more about the culture at Georgetown Prep in North Bethesda than we did a week ago. The atmosphere and experiences of contemporaries fit Ford’s recollections. The Post reports:
They described parties with kegs of beer and bottles of liquor, grain punch, heavy drinking and drug use that took place almost every weekend and even on weeknights in private homes, parks, open fields and golf courses in Maryland and Washington. Until 1986, the drinking age in Washington was 18, and alcohol was easily accessible. Drugs, especially cocaine and quaaludes, were plentiful.
Women who attended those parties remember sexually aggressive behavior by some of the male students that often bordered on assault and was routinely fueled by excessive drinking.
“Most of the guys at these schools were really decent, nice guys, but there was a small minority that was popular and was out of control,” said a woman who attended Georgetown Visitation in the early 1980s and asked not to be identified. “I never got dragged into a bedroom, but that . . . happened to girls all the time.”
Kavanaugh either participated in this drinking culture (as appears from yearbook comments, as well as comments from his friend Mark Judge), in which case he’s a rotten witness (whose reported inebriation renders him less credible), or he didn’t, in which case there has been an elaborate plot to portray him as an excessive drinker. There has been no effort, so far, to disassociate him from the party culture that existed when he attended the school.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/news...dibility-keeps-rising/?utm_term=.03010bfd4b6d
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‘These are the stories of our lives’: Prep school alumni hear echoes in assault claim
Joe Heim
September 19
Bettina Lanyi remembers. It was 1986, and she was in eighth grade. She and a friend went to a house in Washington’s Tenleytown neighborhood packed with high school kids, including a throng of boys from Gonzaga College High School and Georgetown Preparatory School. There was a lot of beer. A few fights broke out. Lanyi recalls being pawed and kissed. It freaked her out. She hadn’t been drinking, but her friend, also an eighth-grader, had.
Lanyi turned around to see a large freshman from one of the schools lying on top of her friend. Lanyi, then a petite 13-year-old, shoved the boy and kicked him. The boy was surprised and appealed to Lanyi to let him continue. “I’ll never get her number otherwise,” he told her. She took her friend and left.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/loca...773aa1e33da_story.html?utm_term=.e2c945b77fb6
Joe Heim
September 19
Bettina Lanyi remembers. It was 1986, and she was in eighth grade. She and a friend went to a house in Washington’s Tenleytown neighborhood packed with high school kids, including a throng of boys from Gonzaga College High School and Georgetown Preparatory School. There was a lot of beer. A few fights broke out. Lanyi recalls being pawed and kissed. It freaked her out. She hadn’t been drinking, but her friend, also an eighth-grader, had.
Lanyi turned around to see a large freshman from one of the schools lying on top of her friend. Lanyi, then a petite 13-year-old, shoved the boy and kicked him. The boy was surprised and appealed to Lanyi to let him continue. “I’ll never get her number otherwise,” he told her. She took her friend and left.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/loca...773aa1e33da_story.html?utm_term=.e2c945b77fb6
Tisme
Apathetic at Best
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At least these days the males can film the events for posterity. I'm fairly sure the next wave of no go zones will include the abhorrent practice of trying to chat up a women, wearing gold chains on a hairy chest.
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This story adds another twist to Brett Kavanaugh assault allegations.
My Rapist Apologized
The Kavanaugh allegations led me to reach out to the man who had assaulted me decades before.
Sep 21, 2018
Deborah Copaken
A river view from Potomac, MarylandMichael S. Williamson / The Washington Post / Getty
On Friday morning, President Donald Trump tweeted that he has “no doubt that, if the attack on Dr. Ford was as bad as she says, charges would have been immediately filed with local Law Enforcement Authorities by either her or her loving parents.”
Let me tell you what life was like as a girl in Montgomery County, Maryland, in the early 1980s. I am a year older than Christine Blasey Ford and a year younger than Brett Kavanaugh. I grew up in Potomac, Maryland, a few miles from both Holton Arms, Ford’s school, and Georgetown Prep, which Kavanaugh attended, but I went to my local public high school, Churchill. Never mind that any girl who was in high school in Potomac during that era knew, through the whisper network, not to go to a Georgetown Prep party alone. That was a given. What was also a given is that “date rape,” as a term, was in its infancy. Most of us thought getting our bodies groped at a high-school party—or anywhere—was the unfortunate price we paid for having them, not something we would ever go to the police to report.
https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2018/09/copaken-kavanaugh/571042/
My Rapist Apologized
The Kavanaugh allegations led me to reach out to the man who had assaulted me decades before.
Sep 21, 2018
Deborah Copaken
A river view from Potomac, MarylandMichael S. Williamson / The Washington Post / Getty
On Friday morning, President Donald Trump tweeted that he has “no doubt that, if the attack on Dr. Ford was as bad as she says, charges would have been immediately filed with local Law Enforcement Authorities by either her or her loving parents.”
Let me tell you what life was like as a girl in Montgomery County, Maryland, in the early 1980s. I am a year older than Christine Blasey Ford and a year younger than Brett Kavanaugh. I grew up in Potomac, Maryland, a few miles from both Holton Arms, Ford’s school, and Georgetown Prep, which Kavanaugh attended, but I went to my local public high school, Churchill. Never mind that any girl who was in high school in Potomac during that era knew, through the whisper network, not to go to a Georgetown Prep party alone. That was a given. What was also a given is that “date rape,” as a term, was in its infancy. Most of us thought getting our bodies groped at a high-school party—or anywhere—was the unfortunate price we paid for having them, not something we would ever go to the police to report.
https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2018/09/copaken-kavanaugh/571042/
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How do you open a conversation with someone who raped you 30 years ago?
The Letter I Wrote My Rapist
..
September 18, 2018
Dear [redacted],
You may not remember me from college. We didn't even meet until the night before graduation. But I have never been able to forget that night or you. The memory, over these past 30 years, comes and goes, but it always pays a visit whenever I hear or read stories of sexual assault between acquaintances. As you can imagine, that's pretty much all the time these days, and this latest Kavanaugh hearing is no exception. In fact, it's been the straw that finally broke this aging camel's back. I realized I could not go on with my life until I finally wrote this letter. I'm shaking, even as I type it.
You were extremely drunk that night, so part of me wonders if you have any idea what I'm even talking about, but overcoming the trauma of that night has been the hardest and most painful work of my adult life. Also its leitmotif. Let me state it as simply as possible, for clarity's sake: you forced yourself on me and pushed yourself into me as I kept saying no.
I have never spoken your name publicly, and I never will. I spoke privately to one of my college roommates, [redacted], and to my friend, [redacted], the next morning, after the assault. I didn't even tell the psychologist at Harvard University Health services when I visited her the next day, between graduation and lunch with my family. [redacted] I just needed to speak with someone to ease the pain of it. To talk it through. To figure out what my rights were. To make a plan. What was I supposed to do, I asked, with this act of violation?
I've asked myself that same question nearly every day since.
The point of this letter is not to frighten you or hurt you or shame you or threaten you with exposure, but rather it is, selfishly, the obvious next step in my own battle to heal. If [redacted] holds any accuracy, you have lead a noble life, and I admire what you've done with it. You have [redacted], you have served your country [redacted] honorably, you have married a smart woman, you [redacted], and I'm assuming you've been a good father to your kids as well, should you have them. There's no way on earth I'd want to hurt any of your loved ones, and you have my solemn promise I never will. [redacted.]
I saw you one time after the assault, ironically at a pro-choice march [redacted] maybe a year or so later. I was living in Paris at the time but had been sent by my photo agency back to the States to cover it. You were [redacted], handing out pro-choice leaflets [redacted.] You saw me and gave me a warm hug hello. We spoke briefly about our work. I was so flummoxed, I mumbled something about having to get back to shooting the march and sank back into the crowd, shaking.
A few years ago, as an exercise, I tried to get into your head that night. I might have mangled it. I might have gotten some of it right. But the idea of this intellectual exercise, which I later published in The Nation, was to see the world from your perspective. To try to have empathy.
I don't hate you. I really don't. I don't hate anyone in general, but I want you to know I don't hate you specifically either. I don't even know what I want from you, in writing this letter, other than to relieve myself of this 30-year burden and to let you know that this thing has haunted me ever since. I recently saw this video, and I found it hopeful, the idea of a perpetrator and his victim finding a place of forgiveness, publicly, together. Perhaps we can privately find ours. Or not. It's up to you, and I will respect whatever choice you make.
Tonight is the beginning of Yom Kippur, so I feel particularly bad sending this email today, of all days, as I imagine receiving this letter might be painful for you, and I'm sorry about that. But I just read Brett Kavanaugh's yearbook entry, which someone published online, and it once again triggered all the hurt from that night long ago, and as I sat frozen in front of a blank page that needs to be filled by the end of today for my work, I realized that if I didn't finally write and send this, I would never move forward or forgive myself. In fact, I nearly died last summer, after complications from a trachelectomy, and one of my thoughts as I was bleeding out and drifting into oblivion, my daughter weeping at my bedside, was my cowardice at not speaking up and lack of closure about that night. Will this email provide it? Maybe. Maybe not. But I hope it will at least provide a few stitches of mending.
Sincerely,
Deborah Copaken
The Letter I Wrote My Rapist
..
September 18, 2018
Dear [redacted],
You may not remember me from college. We didn't even meet until the night before graduation. But I have never been able to forget that night or you. The memory, over these past 30 years, comes and goes, but it always pays a visit whenever I hear or read stories of sexual assault between acquaintances. As you can imagine, that's pretty much all the time these days, and this latest Kavanaugh hearing is no exception. In fact, it's been the straw that finally broke this aging camel's back. I realized I could not go on with my life until I finally wrote this letter. I'm shaking, even as I type it.
You were extremely drunk that night, so part of me wonders if you have any idea what I'm even talking about, but overcoming the trauma of that night has been the hardest and most painful work of my adult life. Also its leitmotif. Let me state it as simply as possible, for clarity's sake: you forced yourself on me and pushed yourself into me as I kept saying no.
I have never spoken your name publicly, and I never will. I spoke privately to one of my college roommates, [redacted], and to my friend, [redacted], the next morning, after the assault. I didn't even tell the psychologist at Harvard University Health services when I visited her the next day, between graduation and lunch with my family. [redacted] I just needed to speak with someone to ease the pain of it. To talk it through. To figure out what my rights were. To make a plan. What was I supposed to do, I asked, with this act of violation?
I've asked myself that same question nearly every day since.
The point of this letter is not to frighten you or hurt you or shame you or threaten you with exposure, but rather it is, selfishly, the obvious next step in my own battle to heal. If [redacted] holds any accuracy, you have lead a noble life, and I admire what you've done with it. You have [redacted], you have served your country [redacted] honorably, you have married a smart woman, you [redacted], and I'm assuming you've been a good father to your kids as well, should you have them. There's no way on earth I'd want to hurt any of your loved ones, and you have my solemn promise I never will. [redacted.]
I saw you one time after the assault, ironically at a pro-choice march [redacted] maybe a year or so later. I was living in Paris at the time but had been sent by my photo agency back to the States to cover it. You were [redacted], handing out pro-choice leaflets [redacted.] You saw me and gave me a warm hug hello. We spoke briefly about our work. I was so flummoxed, I mumbled something about having to get back to shooting the march and sank back into the crowd, shaking.
A few years ago, as an exercise, I tried to get into your head that night. I might have mangled it. I might have gotten some of it right. But the idea of this intellectual exercise, which I later published in The Nation, was to see the world from your perspective. To try to have empathy.
I don't hate you. I really don't. I don't hate anyone in general, but I want you to know I don't hate you specifically either. I don't even know what I want from you, in writing this letter, other than to relieve myself of this 30-year burden and to let you know that this thing has haunted me ever since. I recently saw this video, and I found it hopeful, the idea of a perpetrator and his victim finding a place of forgiveness, publicly, together. Perhaps we can privately find ours. Or not. It's up to you, and I will respect whatever choice you make.
Tonight is the beginning of Yom Kippur, so I feel particularly bad sending this email today, of all days, as I imagine receiving this letter might be painful for you, and I'm sorry about that. But I just read Brett Kavanaugh's yearbook entry, which someone published online, and it once again triggered all the hurt from that night long ago, and as I sat frozen in front of a blank page that needs to be filled by the end of today for my work, I realized that if I didn't finally write and send this, I would never move forward or forgive myself. In fact, I nearly died last summer, after complications from a trachelectomy, and one of my thoughts as I was bleeding out and drifting into oblivion, my daughter weeping at my bedside, was my cowardice at not speaking up and lack of closure about that night. Will this email provide it? Maybe. Maybe not. But I hope it will at least provide a few stitches of mending.
Sincerely,
Deborah Copaken
wayneL
VIVA LA LIBERTAD, CARAJO!
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Gaurdian.... Vox....
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Has anyone something thoughtful to say about the last few articles I have posted ?
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Wait on the hearing.
The whole incident is so politicized that any truth was buried. Right now they both should be believed until investigated further.
Word is that one of the gop senators wants the fbi to investigate. So let the story unfold.
Any article you post is just speculation or attempts to color the truth.
Since the threads a bit slow I'll tell a story.
I had a guy move into my former street and the local hens (after about a week) came up to our house to warn of a pedophile threat that was our new arrival.
Now I had met this guy he was about 6foot8 150kg, bit off a creepy looking guy if you didn't take the time to know him.
When I enquired how they knew one informed me her friend from another suburb had told her that he was well known then. I generally don't believe anything and I can sum people up pretty fast in the first meeting. But with a bunch of young kids I did some digging.
Turned out he was just vilified for the way he looked.
When I round up the idiots that were spreading the slander they actually say "he looks like a pedo".
They probably didn't enjoy me telling them they are all fcuking idiots.
That neighborhood war lasted a good 6 months. One husband was so enraged he bashed on my door yelling. Luckily he got sleepy and took a nap on my front lawn. After that he crawled all the way home while I supervised so he would miss the bindy patches.
As for the new neighbor, possibly the nicest man I had met (not the sharpest tool). Would go out of his way for everyone ( Is the word altruistic I'm looking for?). And is after a few years a much loved fixture in the neighborhood.
He was always judged. There were always rumors or lies. And people would judge him from other people's opinions.
And until people actually took the time to really get to know him, they would just believe the lies.
This was in a wealthy area as well. People are bloody idiots
Anyway the moral of the story is: I'm also an assh0le to people in real life.
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Here you go, back on the same page, who really gives a hoot?
We have enough problems of our own to sort out, you just have to watch Judge Judy(the wife's favourite show), to work out American's have more scams going than Nigeria.
Why anyone would spend time listening to U.S generated gossip, shows that they have way too much time on their hands, maybe they should get a job at Bunnings and have real people to gossip with.
Darc Knight
Investor not Trader
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That story of Mo's is bad. There is no "look" of a Pedo. Look at the convicted sexual predators on the News.
Had to google who that Deborah Copaken of Bas's post is. Nothing to do with Brett Kavangh. Kudos to Bas for shining a light on something which may become an injustice if swept under the rug, BUT the last thing our Society or the Internet needs right now is another Lisa Wilkinson.
Had to google who that Deborah Copaken of Bas's post is. Nothing to do with Brett Kavangh. Kudos to Bas for shining a light on something which may become an injustice if swept under the rug, BUT the last thing our Society or the Internet needs right now is another Lisa Wilkinson.
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Well lucky Kazakhstan hasn't jumped on the U.S bandwagon, or it would cost the Government a fortune.lol
https://au.news.yahoo.com/kazakhstan-orders-2000-paedophiles-chemically-castrated-035307689.html
But it does give food for thought, even if your innocent, you would be $hitting bricks.
I hope the women that are making the claims, are realising the severity of the accusation, it will tarnish the person whether true or false.
The situation is getting to point, where false claims, need to incur a penalty.IMO
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If false claims are made in court that would be perjury.
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How many of the #me too, accusations are going to court? Yet the recipient of a mention, cops a whole lot of misery, both financial and social.
