She's Smarter Than Them

Despite what senators on both sides might say, Christine Blasey Ford is essentially on trial.

There has been no FBI investigation, into Ford’s statements nor those of the other women who came forward to, like her, allege sexual violence by Brett Kavanaugh and those close to him. They will not be called to testify, at least not for now. Nor will Mark Judge, Kavanaugh’s Georgetown Prep buddy whose admitted history of unhinged drinking seems to lie somewhere near the core of this story.

Yet, eager to swerve a PR blunder by the male-dominated Republican Senate Judiciary Committee majority, the GOP brought in a woman—Arizona sex-crime prosecutor Rachel Mitchell—to do their dirty work for them. They passed just about all of their time to Mitchell so she could conduct what amounted to a mild cross-examination of the Palo Alto University professor at the latest hearings over Kavanaugh's Supreme Court nomination.

With the exception of the lawyers she occasionally asked for counsel, Ford was on her own. Yet because she is a psychologist who knows her shit, she was also essentially able to act as her own expert witness—and make anyone doubting her account of what happened look foolish by comparison.

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Asked by Democrat Dianne Feinstein, the senator whose office learned of her allegation, how she knew the man who assaulted her was in fact Brett Kavanaugh—how she knew her memory was sound—Ford’s response was scientific.

“Just basic memory functions and also just the level of norepinephrine and the epinephrine in the brain that sort of, as you know, encodes—that neurotransmitter that codes memories into the hippocampus and so the trauma-related experience is locked there, whereas other details kind of drift.”

“So what you are telling us is, this could not be a case of mistaken identity?” asked Feinstein.

“Absolutely not,” Ford replied.

Forensic psychologists like Lisa Rocchio are often called to testify in criminal cases to account for just the kinds of myths the president and allies—people defending Kavanaugh—have been spreading about false recollections of sexual violence. “There is such widespread ignorance in the typical reactions of victims [that] it’s necessary to combat that widespread ignorance,” she told me.

Prosecutors are often able to introduce these witnesses, "provided that the expert witness is testifying about the state of the science and providing general knowledge that is beyond the typical knowledge base and cannon of a typical juror,” Rocchio explained.

But while an expert witness can be extremely helpful to prosecutors—in explaining to a jury why traumatic memories are often so clear even as the events surrounding the trauma fade, and why survivors often don't report the assault right away—defense attorneys can try to prevent it.

For example, no such expert was called in the trial I covered that eventually convicted Owen Labrie and helped reveal a culture of ritualistic objectification of young girls at St. Paul’s prep school in New Hampshire. Instead, Chessy Prout, 16 at the time of her three-day testimony, 15 at the time of the assault, was forced to answer to gaps in her memory—while also testifying to feminine grooming.

“I was raped,” she burst out, as defense attorney J. W. Carney pressed her in cross examination. “I was violated in so many ways. Of course I was traumatized. I’m sorry.” Labrie was eventually convicted of a felony—using a computer to lure a child—and misdemeanor statutory rape anyway, but was acquitted of felony sexual assault.

On Thursday, Ford’s expertise in her own trauma was clear, helping propel her testimony even as the deck was stacked against her: She dropped terms like “sequelae” and explained “flight-or-flight” in great detail.

“I was definitely experiencing the surge of adrenaline and cortisol and norepinephrine, and credit that a little bit for my ability to get out of the situation,” she told senators of the moments surrounding her escape from a rape attempt.

Jennifer Freyd, a psychology professor at the University of Oregon, was paying close attention to the hearings—and deeply impressed by what she saw. “I would be doing exactly the same thing in her position," she told me. “I would certainly feel like I know something about this and I want to educate people if no one else is doing to do it.”

Near the end of her questioning of Ford, Mitchell—the sex-crimes prosecutor—tried to turn the professor's expertise against her.

“I've been really impressed today, because you've talked norepinephrine and cortisol and what we call in the profession basically the neurobiological effects of trauma. Have you also educated yourself on the best way to get to the memory and truth in terms of interviewing victims of trauma?”

The subtle implication there perhaps being that Ford was too smart—too smooth.

“Would you believe me if I told you that there’s no study that says this setting, in increments, is the best way to do that?” Mitchell asked.

It came across as a joke, but represented the only avenue of attack Republicans had left.

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‘Jack Ryan’ Introduces a New Archetype: The Guilty White Saviour

This article originally appeared on VICE Canada.

This article includes some spoilers.

There’s been an obscene number of guilt-ridden white men making the rounds lately.

Substantially more than usual—feeling bad, acting contrite, and being white.

In the latest installment of the wildly overrated and yet four-decades-in Jack Ryan saga, now an Amazon series called... Jack Ryan, guilt is the burden every white male character is tasked with the honor of carrying. If I was easily swayed by unassuming, Ivy League-bred white fellows, I would think the purpose of this guilt is to make me feel... sorry for them? And dare I say “sympathetic” to their woes?

The series starts off in 1983 Lebanon, in a bedroom where two young boys are enjoying American music; one of them is singing into a comb while the other plays appropriately excited audience. The camera pans to a sizable vintage toy car collection and it’s a blissfully mundane but intimate scene between family which you know is going to experience some kind of unbelievable trauma. This comes at the two-minute mark when the boys’ home is blown to pieces. The last thing we the audience hear, is their terrified cries as they run for cover before our eyes are immediately directed to the land of the free and the home of the brave. We are introduced to one of their brave ones rowing with intense determination. Well, I’m guessing determination is what the audience is expected to glean out of the moments when John Krasinski (Jim from The Office and now Jack Ryan) is staring into the camera between strokes. There is probably a hint of guilt because somewhere down the line the tortured connection between this white man and the blown up brown family will be revealed.

Jack Ryan was created by American novelist Tom Clancy, a staunch Republican and fan of former President Ronald Reagan. This to say that a character such as Ryan will have qualities befitting someone whose creator believes in a specific kind of American patriotism; one rooted in military service, an unshakable obeisance to the American constitution and the anthem, with an instantaneous mistrust of anyone whose religion does not start with a Genesis and end with a Revelation. The show exists in a time where the very concept of American patriotism is being eviscerated daily; from the continued investigations into Russian collusion in the last presidential election, the reticence of the Democratic party to hold Trump accountable for his crimes, and the current crisis with Supreme court nominee Brett Kavanaugh who has been accused of sexually assaulting several women, and yet continues to be backed by a White House led by a man also accused of sexually assaulting multiple women.

None of this mess exists in Jack Ryan as there is a high-level of competency and righteousness possessed by most of the characters (Jack Ryan is repeatedly called a “boy scout,” which is largely how he was originally written by Clancy), who have a seemingly Republican state of mind which involves politics of state before self, unparalleled international and national surveillance paired with a no holds barred, invasive foreign policy. It’s a competency that is at odds with the fractured Republican party of today. One which has largely relied on the legacy of solid but respectable conservatives such as the likes of Senator John McCain, Former Secretaries of State Condoleezza Rice, Colin Powell, and President Dwight D. Eisenhower, which now has to contend with a Trumpism that has dragged much of the Republican mainstream to the extreme right.

By refusing to take into account the current administration, this series misses an opportunity to properly analyze both the social and political institutions represented by their characters. One of their leads (The Wire’s Wendell Pierce) plays a black Muslim man, who as Ryan’s boss, has a high position in the CIA. The politics of not only visibility, but power and race in this instance are incredibly complicated. If the series was as trenchant and nuanced as its creators would like to believe, they would have gone deeper into trying to understand what these intersections of identity mean. Not only in the series but in the series as it exists in a country where Muslims are being banned from entering the US, and black people are one of the most heavily surveilled and targeted racial groups in the country by law enforcement. That would have required not only the audience but the creators themselves to reckon with the society we are living in. But maybe they just felt too guilty to do the work.

From the onset, Jack Ryan is a man with a burden. Constant flashbacks of his former life in a hot desert, Middle Eastern country, dressed in fatigues, remind us he has been through some shit. He is his own Atlas holding up the the world, and it makes you wonder what emotional load he is carrying. Well he lost all of his friends in a helicopter crash caused by a young boy who befriended Ryan with his innocence, ignited the white savior in him, and got the last spot on a flight heading back to the land of opportunity. They never made it because once the boy got on the helicopter he looked Ryan in the eye, held up a grenade and set it off. Everyone died except Ryan so big guilt is felt here. Guilt for being a part of a structure that profits of war. Guilt for killing God knows how many people. Guilt for trusting the boy. Guilt for surviving. Guilt for also being slightly happy that he made it out. Guilt for not feeling guilty enough. As the last man standing, Ryan is his own Last Samurai a la Tom Cruise. Another white man burdened by an inordinate amount of time spent killing other brown people in their own country. It’s a vicious white man cycle.

Ryan is not the only red-blooded American struggling to cope. Victor Polizzi played by John Magaro is drone pilot based in Nevada who spends his days playing the digital Reaper. From thousands of miles away with the help of modern technology, Victor can set off an explosion in Syria with a press of a button. His own version of Call of Duty sees him killing people as he is ordered, based off a person of interest sliding scale where someone is either to be surveilled or terminated. For every kill he makes, Victor’s colleague hands him a one dollar bill. He has 107 which he has pasted on a wall to remind him of the dark cloud that hangs over his head. Unable to deal with the weight, he goes to the casino in the hope of gambling the money away, but as white luck would have it he ends up winning almost $30,000.

White man’s guilt is a lazy, irresponsible but clearly lucrative trope because what's more appealing than a white guy who wants to do good because he just feels so bad about what he's done? An intentional caveat of this guilt is the avoidance of culpability because it’s never truly just their fault. Orders were followed, lives were lost, and normalcy resumed. White heroes are not required to question their role in a violent event but simply ponder it with a healthy degree of detachment, cynicism, and self-righteousness. Jack Ryan ends on guilt, courtesy of another brown child whom after the death of his father (who happened to be a terrorist) at the hands of Ryan, appears set to have vengeful terrorism in his future. You see it in his eyes. You see it in Ryan’s as he now has to contend with the guilt that comes from presuming that the boy he saved is going to ultimately go down the same horrid path. All because of Ryan’s heroism.

It’s garbage and yet as America and the world prepares to possibly have not one, but two men accused of sexual assault sitting in an office making laws regarding the rights of women, white man’s guilt is going to be haunting all of us for years to come. They’ll feel it, we’ll hear about it, and nothing will change. Because when you’re a guilty white man, all you have to do is say you feel bad and then everything will be fine. Guilt will be constant but fleeting, their actions unchanging, and their lives unbothered though slightly inconvenienced.

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Rat Jumps over Wall at Wrigley Field and the Crowd Goes Wild

Most of the time, baseball is a torturously boring sport to watch, but every once in a while, you get to see some total no-name transform into a star before your very eyes: They emerge from the shadows and display such an uncanny gift, such sheer athletic prowess, there's no question that you're watching a legend in the making. And on Wednesday night, one such undeniable talent graced Wrigley Field during a game between the Chicago Cubs and the Milwaukee Brewers, stunning fans with a feat unlike anything the sport has ever seen. Behold, and rejoice, for on this night, a true athletic hero was born:

That, my friends, is the world of baseball's latest sensation: the Wrigley Rat. Fans couldn't help but turn away from the actual game unfolding before them, and instead fixate on his quest to leap from a fence in the outfield to the wall behind it, a seemingly unnavigable gulf that, try as he might, our hero just couldn't cross—for a time. Before each valiant attempt, the crowd roared with support, even chanting for him—"Rat! Rat! Rat!"—only to let out a resounding, collective "awww" when he failed to breach the wall. But after each defeat, he picked himself right back up, scaled the fence once more, and tried again.

"You can do it!" one fan screamed.

While the crowd cheered him on, the Wrigley Rat sprang toward the wall one more time, stretched out his little paws, and—at long last!—hoisted himself up onto the grass. The crowd went wild, erupting in a chorus of shouts and whistles and applause, their arms shooting up in an gesture of pure ecstasy. Our boy had made the play, and though there were still a few innings left to go, it was clear who the real MVP was that night.

Here's to you, Wrigley Rat. May you enjoy your grassy spoils, may the road before you lead to bounteous piles of trash and discarded pizza, and may we never forget the night you transformed a dumb, boring old Cubs game into a spectacle for the ages.

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What Real Radicals Think About the FBI Hunting 'Black Identity Extremists'

Last October, Foreign Policy leaked a report from the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) that examined a novel perceived threat to American security: not white supremacists, not anti-abortion activists, but black people driven by bloodthirsty rage at police.

The intelligence assessment, dated August 2017, suggested that an ideologically-driven subset of black activists termed “Black Identity Extremists” was actively seeking to attack cops of all stripes—and might have already done so, citing the fatal attack on police in Dallas in July 2016. "The FBI assesses it is very likely Black Identity Extremist (BIE) perceptions of police brutality against African Americans spurred an increase in premeditated, retaliatory lethal violence against law enforcement and will very likely serve as justification for such violence,” the report stated.

Legal scholars railed against the findings of the assessment. "This designation, just recently invented by the FBI, is as frightening and dangerous as the bureau’s infamous Cointelpro program of the 1960s and ’70s, under which J. Edgar Hoover set out to disrupt and destroy virtually any group with the word ‘black’ in its name,” wrote law professors Khaled A. Beydoun and Justin Hansford in an op-ed published by the New York Times last November. And it wasn’t long before a black activist did come under state scrutiny for his activism: In December 2017, the FBI banged on the door of Dallas activist Rakem Balogun, who later learned he was under investigation by agents focused on domestic terrorism. He was believed to be the first person targeted and prosecuted as part of the FBI’s crackdown on “BIEs,” although the indictment against him has since been dismissed.

VICE recently caught up with two activists to discuss the significance of the BIE designation's existence and the current state of black organizing in a climate of resurgent white supremacy. Eddie Conway was a prominent member of the Baltimore chapter of the Black Panther Party and served 44 years in prison for the murder of a police officer, although his many advocates argued there was never any physical evidence linking him to the crime, and he has maintained his innocence. He now works as a producer at the Real News Network. Shannon Jones is the co-founder of “Why Accountability,” a black and woman-led group in New York that organizes against police brutality.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

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VICE: What were your first thoughts when you learned that the FBI’s Domestic Terrorism Analysis Unit was engaged in this effort to track “Black Identity Extremists”?
Shannon Jones: I relate everything black people have to experience directly to plantation dynamics. So a person must be labeled "extreme" so folks can distance themselves from the person, from the organization, from the belief system or rites of passage that come from that person or organization… To even bring up a completely manufactured term of Black Identity Extremist or Extremism, is to keep people away from seeking full justice and liberation for African people in the United States. So it didn’t strike me as shocking when the discussion took place about what is a BIE.

Eddie Conway: I think the first thing that struck me about it was that’s in sync with the trend in America towards fascism, and I immediately thought about the National Defense Authorization Act that Obama had signed [in 2011], that gave the president the right to designate anybody in the world [as terrorist sympathizers or belligerents], including all American citizens, and have them detained indefinitely by the military. What was interesting about that was that he signed the [Memorandum of Understanding] that said he would never use it—well, of course, [several] years later he’s out of office, [and a version of it is still] the law of the land.

An issue that comes up when we discuss the BIE label is what it means to engage in “self-defense,” and by the same token how the state (in this case, the FBI) endeavors to define who and what poses a threat to “national security.” What does self-defense mean to you?
Jones: We look at self-defense as something much more granular—it doesn’t have to be involving guns, it can and in some instances it should, but in the day-to-day life it may not. So one of the examples that we have of black self-defense is our swipe-it-forward resistance action. The reason we call that black self-defense is, it’s not just as simple as swiping in with your metro card, like some sort of charity work, or doing someone a favor. It’s saying that we are confronting racist policing within the subway system. So by swiping someone in, [we’re] protecting them from being snatched up by the criminal justice system.

Conway: I look at the position we’re in, and I’ve already stated—I look down the road and I see concentration camps in our future if we don’t organize to make sure that that doesn’t happen… I look at self-defense as the need to apply everything [all tactics]… but [there’s] a bottom line in all self-defense… [Consider] the quote from Huey P. Newton, “An unarmed people are slaves or are subject to slavery at any given moment.” If everybody else is armed, then by golly we need to be armed also.

We have a history of the government using "divide and conquer” in this country to play minorities against each other, but we also have moments of real solidarity. I’m thinking about Fred Hampton’s “Rainbow Coalition,” for example. What do you think it takes to build coalitions across racial difference, and are activists today doing enough of that?
Jones: Africans in the United States are constantly burdened with the question of unity, or we are compelled to unify with [allies or other racial minorities]. We always get asked that question. Why are we burdened with unity? It relates back to plantation dynamics. Because when we "unify" those white-supremacist hierarchies tend to play out. This is why “Why Accountablity” is an organization predicated on black liberation.

Conway: I think that allies and unity actually happen as the result of other people having skin in the game. The Water Protectors, for example, or environmental activists. If they realize the planet is being killed by this economic system or white supremacy, by racism, by materialism and profit-making—they can recognize that. They can recognize how that will affect them [just like] thousands of people just being laid off, say, or being kicked off of the social-service roles in Alabama, Arkansas, etc. Now, if Trump do what he's doing, they got skin in the game. And I think when people start recognizing that and people start feeling the pain of that, they won't look for allies, they will take a stand, they will take a position.

In your work at “Why Accountability” you’ve sought to expose the institution of the NYPD as inherently racist—that it’s not just an issue of “bad apples.” In the age of Trump, though, sometimes the “bad apples” get all the attention. What do you think are the challenges of doing this kind of political work right now, especially in an allegedly liberal place like NYC?
Jones: Well for us, at “Why Accountability,” we in a so-called blue state, so whatever we experience is from the Democratic Party club. All this with sex assault in Rikers, beating people up at Rikers, police brutality, police murder, that has nothing to do with Trump. That's a binary that liberal whites benefit from and they benefit from black people participating in that binary, so then everything that's happenin' to others because of Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump—no… That is one thing that I really do not engage in because that is a binary that keeps black people from fully comprehending our condition.

That makes a lot of sense to me, but I wonder what it means to hold that idea alongside a reality like Charlottesville—the fact that there appears to be this resurgence in white nationalism and far-right violence. How do we hold those dual realities in concert with each other?
Jones: I guess I'll repeat. To black people it's the rise of nothing. It's always been there. Barbecue Becky was always there. It's just a confrontation to a white liberal that is desperate to believe that society is not like that.

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