During this period at the Department of Education, my working

Hear now the words of Anita Hill, spoken in the fire of testimony: “During this period at the Department of Education, my working relationship with Judge Thomas was positive.” At first glance, the words are plain, steady, without ornament. Yet beneath their calm surface lies the weight of history, of conflict, and of the enduring struggle for truth. These words are not merely the memory of one woman—they are a fragment of the greater tapestry of justice, where the personal and the political intertwine.

The origin of this saying lies in the crucible of 1991, when Anita Hill, a professor of law, stood before the Senate Judiciary Committee to testify about her experiences with Clarence Thomas, then nominated to the highest court of the land. In that chamber of power, her voice trembled not with fear, but with the solemnity of truth. When she declared that at the Department of Education her relationship with him was once positive, she bore witness to the complexity of human interaction: that the same story may hold moments of light and moments of shadow, and that truth is rarely painted in only one color.

This statement teaches us that relationships, especially within the halls of power, are seldom simple. There are seasons when harmony prevails, when respect appears whole, when the bond between colleagues seems fruitful. Yet these moments may stand beside seasons of betrayal, disrespect, or silence. The wise understand that acknowledging what was once positive does not negate later pain—it reveals the fullness of reality. To speak only of suffering would be partial; to speak only of ease would be deception. Anita Hill’s words embody courage, for they embrace complexity when the world hungered for simplicity.

Think of the tale of Cassandra of Troy, who spoke truths that men did not wish to hear. Like Anita Hill, Cassandra’s words were doubted, questioned, resisted by those who found them inconvenient. Yet in her calm acknowledgment of both the positive and the painful, Anita Hill surpassed even Cassandra’s fate, for she planted seeds of awareness that would, decades later, give birth to movements of courage and solidarity. Her balance—her refusal to twist truth into weapon—was itself a victory of integrity.

Let us not mistake calm words for weakness. To declare that one’s relationship was once positive is not to soften the accusation, nor to deny the harm. It is to affirm that truth has many layers, and that justice can only be sought when the whole fabric is revealed. In a world that longs for stories of pure villainy and pure sainthood, Hill’s testimony reminds us that the real battlefield lies in the gray spaces—where power, respect, and harm collide.

The lesson is clear: in our own lives, when we tell our stories, let us not erase the parts that seem inconvenient to our cause. Let us instead be whole. Speak of the good that once was, even if it turned to ashes. Speak of the respect that was once given, even if it was later broken. For only by acknowledging the full arc of the story can we walk in the strength of truth.

Practical action lies before us: when you find yourself bearing witness—whether in a court, in a family, or in your own heart—practice honesty that does not fear complexity. Honor the moments that were positive, even as you condemn what was harmful. Do not flatten your story to suit the demands of others, but let it stand in its full, living truth. For such truth, though harder to bear, is the only soil in which justice and healing can grow.

Thus Anita Hill’s words remain not as a fragment of testimony lost in the dust of hearings, but as a beacon: integrity requires wholeness, courage demands balance, and the voice that speaks truth with steadiness will echo across generations. Let us, then, be unafraid to speak with the same strength—to name the light, to name the shadow, and to hold them together in the palm of truth.