This is part two of a three-part series. 
Part One
Part Three

Motion for Sanctions: Jane Doe IV

Jane Doe IV was next on the stand, and she walked up with just as much confidence as Emily, and with a determined expression on her face. Jane Doe IV has since outed herself to some friends and family, but she has not yet publicly identified herself with this lawsuit, so I’ll refer to her as Ivey.* The description that comes to mind when I think of Ivey is “tiny but fierce.” Stylishly dressed in yellow slacks paired with a white-and-black pinstriped suit jacket and black peep-toe pumps that gave her a few extra inches, she looked ready to take on anyone and anything.  Mr. Sotomayor was notably obsessed with the plaintiffs’ memories (and lack thereof), and Ivey had already shown, in the years leading up to this hearing, that her ability to remember even the remotest details is impeccable. She had also spent the most time with medical professionals who helped her process the memories she had unconsciously repressed. If Mr. Sotomayor used the same tactics with her as he had with Emily, she would be prepared.

Ivey answered questions about her medical diagnoses of repressed memory being a symptom of her PTSD. This was a strange moment (and a build-up to her best-worst moment) because when Mr. Sotomayor asked her who had come up with the term “repressed memory” for her, she referenced her doctors by name and began to detail the diagnosis, which he then objected to. The judge didn’t skip a beat: “She answered the question. She is doing a nice job to save you some time.”

To which Ivey added, “I am helping you out, sir. Be respectful.” It’s a good thing I wasn’t allowed to talk, because I think I swallowed my tongue at that moment. She was so fierce. The judge didn’t seem fazed.

Mr. Sotomayor pressed Ivey on her motivations, bringing forth a recorded social media conversation in which she had mentioned an IBLP documentary and asking her to affirm that she had said “I thought it was basic and good. Just a reminder of what we—why we are exposing them because of their false teachings, hurt, pain that Bill caused to others.” She started answering as her attorney objected to the relevance of the question, and the judge pulled her back.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on. When there is an objection, you have to stop.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Ivey was irrepressible.

The judge overruled the objection, and Ivey tried to explain that she was not talking about the lawsuit, because the group she was chatting in didn’t know that she was a plaintiff. Mr. Sotomayor took a little rabbit trail here, to find out more about the chat groups,

“So tell us some more about this—”

“No, you ask me the questions and I will answer. Thank you,” Ivey replied pertly.

“I am starting to ask that question,” Mr. Sotomayor seemed caught between astonished and indignant.

The judge kindly broke in again, “Let him finish the question he is asking and then we’ll deal with whether it is in proper form or not, ma’am.”

“Okay.” A quick glance around the gallery showed that we were all equally caught up in this exchange. I swallowed a nervous giggle. It was as though there was only one person in the room at that moment. Ivey was indomitable.

Several more of the precious forty minutes allotted to Jane Doe IV were taken up by Mr. Sotomayor’s attempt at “gotcha” questioning and Ivey’s very specific answers that got him exactly nowhere. He clearly didn’t understand the social media situation as it related to the lawsuit, and whatever his notes were on his yellow legal pad, they must have contained more conjecture than facts. He finally abandoned his attempts to dissect the chat groups, and just asked straight out, “Did you make a representation that the lawsuit was based on Gothard’s false teachings?”

Since the only statement he had read on the record was about the IBLP documentary, she asked, “Does that statement say that the lawsuit is based upon that?”

Mr. Sotomayor answered indignantly, “You—”

Ivey was having none of it. “Does that statement contain lawsuit based on that?”

Sotomayor tried again, “You—”

“Does that statement contain lawsuit based on that?!” 

I couldn’t decide who to keep my eyes on: Ivey, the judge, or Mr. Sotomayor. The tension was beginning to squeeze the room. The judge didn’t say a word to the tiny non-lawyer taking over the courtroom from the witness stand, but he did rescue Mr. Sotomayor from having to answer her directly.

“Read the statement again, counsel. Read the statement again.” Ivey was a force.

Mr. Sotomayor did read the statement again, and of course it said nothing about the lawsuit, so the judge extended Mr. Sotomayor another kindness by explaining, “You can expose people any number of ways. By other chats, by other—”

“That was referring to a documentary,” Ivey interrupted.

This time the judge turned to her. He didn’t expand in his chair or lean forward. His tone remained mild, but it was his courtroom, “Ma’am, ma’am—”

Ivey pulled herself back. “Sorry.”

It was like there were only two people in the room, now. “Let me roll with it, okay?” I would say there was a twinkle in his eye, but if he ever read this he’d probably ask me never to say such a thing. “I can take care of myself on certain things. I will look to you when I need some more help.”

The gallery couldn’t help it. We tittered. I took a few deep breaths and didn’t look anyone in the eye, trying to keep from actually giggling. Ivey still hadn’t reached her pinnacle. I hoped she was all right. That moment felt like the best moment of my life.

“So it doesn’t reference the specific lawsuit in regard. There are lots of other things that people can do in the world besides lawsuits. Next question. You have one minute left,” the judge told Mr. Sotomayor.

One of Gothard’s big contentions in his motions for sanctions was that his behavior was never sexual in nature. Mr. Sotomayor attempted to press Ivey on her sexual abuse claims, mentioning the “non-sexual” full-frontal hugs, footsie, and hand-holding. Her speech was quick and definitive.

“That is considered sexual harassment and sexual abuse because it is unwanted and unconsented.” Mic drop.

The judge stopped Mr. Sotomayor here, as his time had run out, and Mr. Mincieli was given his fifteen minutes, which he used to discuss the source of Ivey’s fast speech and quick temper.

“Jane Doe IV.”

“Yes,” Ivey replied.

“Calm down.”

“All right. Thank you.” She took a deep breath in and then exhaled.

“You talk very fast.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Judicial notice is taken,” quipped the judge.

There might have been more than a titter from the gallery. The pressure in the room released. “Thank you,” Mr. Mincieli smiled. He was calm. Ivey was calm. “I was asked on the stand a lot of questions about whether or not you have a condition that represses memories.”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“And everybody in the courtroom just heard how fast you talk.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there a condition that you have that causes that reaction in you?”

“Yes, sir.” Mr. Sotomayor objected on the basis of foundation, and Ivey spoke up quickly, “I have a medical condition with a proper foundation, thank you!”

The objection was sustained for lack of foundation, but Ivey was permitted to explain her understanding of her condition.

“Why is it that you talk so fast, that you understand?” Mr. Mincieli continued.

“I have post-traumatic stress syndrome, sir.”

Mr. Sotomayor objected again, “Objection. That is a diagnosis.”

Her best moment on the stand was arguably also her worst moment. It was quite possibly the most memorable moment of the day. This was the moment. I see it every time I think about hearing day. Ivey slammed both her hands down, flat, on her podium, and, leaning forward, spoke directly to the opposing lawyer. “I have the diagnosis, sir!” Ivey was—she was transcendent.

Over in the gallery, I felt a little faint.  The judge turned to Ivey a little more firmly this time and reminded her of the need for decorum, and she apologized. The judge turned to Mr. Sotomayor. “Now, in regard to having ‘PTSD or not PTSD,’ you made inquiries of the previous Jane Doe III in regard to that and testimony was allowed in regard to that, so I am overruling it. She can say that she feels she is suffering from PTSD.”

Mr. Sotomayor reminded the judge that he had insisted that all the hearings be separate hearings irrespective of each other, but before he could get any further, the judge interrupted him, “You don’t need to—you keep saying just for the record, because everything you say is for the record. I get it. And everything that I say is just for the record. And everything that the witnesses say is just for the record. And that is why we have a record.”

My sister and I looked side-eye at each other, then looked quickly away again. The back and forth was starting to make me giddy. I wasn’t sure I could hold it in, but I was determined not to get kicked out by the bailiff, who had remained stoic in his chair and had not even glared at any of us. I had no intention of testing his patience with our decorum, or lack thereof. I had no intention of missing one second of this hearing.

This was the moment that Mr. Sotomayor challenged the judge’s bias. The judge had just stated that the burden of proof on the question of proving the validity of any medical records would likely not be met, as no medical professionals had been subpoenaed to testify on the matter. Mr. Sotomayor took this to mean that his burden of proof as to the entire motion would fail, and took exception. “Judge, at this point, based upon that statement, which I think is improper, you have already made a decision in this case. I ask that you recuse yourself, for the record.” He sounded like a sassy teenager. Judge Popejoy took exception to his exception.

“You have got to be out of your mind, counsel. I have been involved in this case from the very start.” Warning chills down my spine. There was some fast paced back-and-forth between the two. Sotomayor should have let it go. The judge explained his statement on the burden of proof, and Sotomayor acknowledged its limited scope. But rather than backing off, he doubled down. It felt as if he were on a kamikaze mission. Maybe he was. This was the only time in the entire day of proceedings that I saw the judge become visibly angry.

Mr. Sotomayor seemed to be deliberately provoking him. “When the Court says you’re going to lose, and I haven’t even presented my case, I think that that indicates the court is already biased towards my client’s position!”

Mr. Mincieli had been standing and facing the judge, and at this he turned around and sat down, crossing his arms. It was as though he knew what was coming.

Judge Popejoy didn’t have a voice that thundered, but the room felt the impact of his next words, regardless, “I am going to say…I am going—I said ‘you’re going to lose’?! You’d better be very careful about what you said that I said, sir, because I will play it back right now and we will sit and listen.” He gestured toward his clerk. “And if I didn’t say you’re going to lose, then maybe we will sanction you, how about that? Do you want to go that way, too?!”

Mr. Sotomayor tried again, “Judge—”

Mr. Mincieli leaned back in his chair as though he was settling in.

The judge interrupted, “I have read eight sets of pleadings. I have read eight sets of pleadings. You have four to six pages in every one of these pleadings as to the allegations that you claim were done in violation of 137. You can prove those in any number of ways: by the individuals, by Mr. Gothard, by other witnesses, by other medical professionals. I don’t know what you’re going to do. I am relying on these pleadings and so are you, because you didn’t draft these pleadings. Mr. Gaffney drafted these pleadings. But what I do know is the hearing is limited to the content of the pleadings and what is alleged within these pleadings. And there is no allegation in these pleadings that people were not suffering the medical condition that they alleged, and there is no medical basis in the pleadings to support them. There may be any number of bases that can provide you relief. I am merely saying that I am not aware of any doctors coming in to testify as to what conditions did or didn’t exist, nor am I aware of plaintiffs bringing any doctors in in response to your motion to substantiate that they were suffering from something or not suffering from something. So that is the purpose of that.”

Judge Popejoy paused a moment, and then addressed Mr. Sotomayor again. “You may continue your inquiry.”

“Thank you, your Honor. I will be brief.” And that was all that was said about judges recusing themselves and attorneys being sanctioned. Mr. Mincieli sat forward again. The gallery sat as quietly as mice.

The rest of Ivey’s hearing was uneventful, though Mr. Sotomayor did try to get her to say that her PTSD diagnosis was on account of a childhood rape, and not due to the counsel that Gothard gave her regarding that rape. She was not tripped up by this line of questioning and reiterated the allegations she’d stated in her complaint. Ivey was marvelous. When she was dismissed from the witness stand, she walked back to the gallery with a firm stride and her head up. Back in her seat, she looked at her supporters as Emily had done, clearly wondering if her emotions had lost her motion for her. I didn’t think so. I felt that the judge got it. That he got her.

I also had the distinct impression by this point in the proceedings that the judge was looking for something rather specific from the parties in this hearing. I felt that he was listening closely for certain things to be brought forth that might sway him in one direction or another. Whether he was hearing what he was looking for, I couldn’t tell, but I didn’t think the plaintiffs’ discomfort on the stand had anything to do with his process. It turns out that I was right about that part of it, based on the judge’s ruling, but there were four more plaintiffs to go, and their testimonies would also provide some very memorable moments on the stand.

Motion for Sanctions: Jane Doe V

Jane Doe V was called. As she is also not yet publicly associated with her involvement in this lawsuit, I’ll refer to her as Vee. I don’t know if she was the most composed plaintiff on the stand that day, but I’d say it was close. She was easily the gentlest natured. She approached the stand without fanfare, and she left it in the same way, but her demeanor had a quiet power to it. She singlehandedly changed the atmosphere of the room. Her armor was in her simplicity—she wore a lovely floral blouse with black slacks and pumps and natural makeup. Her air was that of a woman secure in herself. Sotomayor didn’t call her in his first twenty minutes, but questioned her attorney, instead. I wondered why he didn’t call her. Maybe because he wanted extra time to question Mr. Mincieli and didn’t have any big admissions or social media gaffes he hoped to drag out of Vee.

When Mr. Mincieli’s fifteen minutes arrived, he asked for a moment, in which perhaps, he, too, was considering why Mr. Sotomayor hadn’t called Vee to the stand. After a moment of silent review, decision made, he called her, opening the door for Mr. Sotomayor to continue to question her in cross-examination. Mr. Mincieli used his time to bring out testimony of how Vee began to access her repressed memories, with several interruptions from Mr. Sotomayor to object. Some of the objections seemed to me to be designed to use up the time, since the judge had not bent much on his forty-minutes-per-plaintiff rule.

Vee was permitted, finally, to speak of her own memory and impressions and feelings, as long as she didn’t reference her clinical diagnosis pointing to the repressed memory symptoms. “I don’t know exact dates. I began counseling with Ronna Letner shortly after joining the lawsuit. I counseled with her for several months. The exploration of memories that I had packed away for twenty years—” After another objection that was overruled, she continued, “I began to process memories, raw emotion that I had packed away for twenty years that I had never—that I had never processed through. And it came out in a torrent.” In spite of her composure, this was an emotion-filled moment. I felt my breath catch as she spoke, as my heart felt connected to what she was sharing. There was a deep, quiet genuineness about her testimony.

Vee was cut off by objections from the defense several times, and at one point she turned to the judge and appealed to him to allow her to continue, that reliving her memories and the effect it had on her, her home life, her marriage, her children, was relevant. The judge demonstrated both his respect for the admissibility of testimony and his respect for the woman sitting in the witness stand, saying, “I understand what is going on.” He nodded at her, giving her time to compose herself. “You have an attorney who is involved with the question.” He turned to Mr. Mincieli, “You may continue.” Because those elements spoke to damages, which the judge deemed not part of the motions involved in this hearing, and because his time was up, Mr. Mincieli yielded the floor to Mr. Sotomayor’s last five minutes.

Mr. Sotomayor, during his five-minute cross-examination, brought up the time of Vee’s diagnosis (that he had previously objected to her referencing) as occurring after she filed the motion. This seemed to be a point he hoped would be strongly made by the end of the day—that there had in large part been no clinical diagnoses for these plaintiffs before filing the lawsuit, and that any diagnoses that had been made could not be referred to specifically, as there was no medical professional to testify to them.

Mr. Sotomayor’s long game was becoming clear. He didn’t use his limited time to insist that what they had claimed never happened. He seemed, rather, to use his time to build a case against the plaintiffs’ attorneys, and even perhaps against the judge himself, almost as though he was setting the stage to assert that there was some kind of brotherhood conspiracy that had led them to allow such a case to ever make it into a filed complaint, much less survive several motions to dismiss filed by the defense. If that was Mr. Sotomayor’s underlying intention, it had the consequence of making him seem out of touch with these hearings on the motions. Looking back, I still have the impression that Mr. Sotomayor never expected to win the judge’s ruling that day. But I do think he expected to do more than to grandstand for his client in a losing battle.

Sanctions against Jane Doe V (pg 38-49)
Response to Sanctions by Jane Doe V

Motion for Sanctions: Charis Barker

Before the lunch break, the last plaintiff on the morning’s calendar was called. The judge stated to the room, “Charis Barker.” (Her story HERE) Then, to Mr. Sotomayor, “It’s your motion.”

Mr. Sotomayor seemed flustered somehow. “Yes, yes.”

“Who are you going to call?”

“Yes. I am going to call Ms. Barker.”

Charis wore a conservative black pantsuit with black pumps. She is tall and slender, and though she speaks quietly, she speaks eloquently and wears her intelligence comfortably. She clearly knows she’s smart, but she doesn’t waste her time trying to convince anyone else of it. Every time she opened her mouth to speak of her life story during our week together, I found myself hanging on every word. I almost felt sorry for Mr. Sotomayor, because he wouldn’t be able to help underestimating this understated woman. Almost.

This is where it got a little weird, and it’s where my favorite quote from the entire hearing was spoken. Mr. Sotomayor seemed distracted by something in his notes. Once she was sworn in, he turned to Charis and asked, “Are you also known as Lizzy?”

“No,” she replied.

He glanced over his yellow legal pad again. He asked her timeline questions as he had a couple of the other plaintiffs, and she answered briefly and without embellishment. He quickly segued into his repressed memory line of inquiry, referring to a conversation she had with other plaintiffs over social media. It was becoming clear that he was most interested in addressing certain recorded conversations from social media that, taken piecemeal, seemed to suggest either an alternate motive for joining the lawsuit or that there were no repressed memories. In Charis’s case, it appeared that he wanted to discuss the fact that she didn’t initially feel comfortable with the terms used in the complaint. Charis didn’t give him an inch more than he asked for, and certainly not more than she felt she could give. She seemed to instinctively know when the question was artfully designed to elicit a response that could suggest something more than she intended to say.

During his fifteen minutes, Mr. Mincieli simply emphasized through questioning that Charis had felt that she had received adequate reassurance from her attorneys that her claims were accurate from a legal standpoint. Mr. Sotomayor objected several times, again seeming to be trying to use up Mr. Mincieli’s time, as one of his objections was to Charis’s belief at the time of filing, which, it had already been established, was a main point of these proceedings. On his redirect, Mr. Sotomayor again fumbled with his paperwork.

“Well, ma’am—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t call you ma’am. That sometimes is not a very nice thing to call someone.” This got a few raised eyebrows. He had stood, but he turned back to his table.

Bill Gothard, who had remained mostly silent until now, leaned forward and said in a stage whisper, “Elizabeth.”

Mr. Sotomayor turned back toward the witness stand, “Elizabeth—can I call you Elizabeth?” There was something funny going on here. Charis’s full name is Elizabeth Charis Wood Barker, and this was spelled out at the beginning of her portion of the hearing. The judge called her case as “Charis Barker.” Yet, Mr. Sotomayor never once used “Charis” and seemed hung up on variations of her first name. I still haven’t made up my mind about it, but I wondered at the time if this was an attempt to connect the dots between Charis and some of the victim stories that had been posted anonymously online.

Charis responded, a little cheekily, “That is not what most people call me, but sure.”

Mr. Sotomayor didn’t seem to feel he was getting anywhere. “How would you like me to address you? Because I will do it in that fashion.”

“You can address me as Mrs. Barker,” she replied, that cheeky look still on her face. Mic drop.

Charis’s reply was quoted and re-quoted and misquoted more times than I can remember at lunchtime, after the hearing, the next day, weeks later over the phone, and in texts. It was a power shift response, and we all felt it. I still smile when I think of it.

The entire plaintiff’s side of the gallery swelled with pride, and, if I’m not mistaken, there were a few individuals on the defense side who couldn’t help but be impressed. I think by this point in the hearings, several former plaintiffs and a few non-plaintiffs in the gallery were wishing we could have had a turn in their shoes. To have such a powerful moment as these plaintiffs were having, one after the other, each according to her own personality and personal story—the witness stand had become an enviable platform.

The power in the room was clearly in the hands of Mrs. Barker, whatever she chose to do with it. Mr. Sotomayor still seemed to struggle with his train of thought.

“Mrs. Barker, you just testified a little while ago that you today and never—well, let me ask you this.” We waited through another pause. “You have never suffered from repressed memory syndrome; isn’t that true?”

It seemed that he had landed on the one fact he felt most assured of in regard to Charis, and she responded as briefly as she had throughout, “Not to my knowledge.” Even in her assent, she gave him not one iota more than he had asked for. Mr. Mincieli called him out for asking for a diagnosis again, and the court sustained the objection. However, once restated to her “belief” as to the condition of her memory, Charis was allowed to answer the question again. She did so, with one-word answers.

Mr. Sotomayor continued to appear vaguely flustered, until he finally said, “No further questions.”

Sanctions against Charis Barker (pages 4-15)
Response to Sanctions by Charis Barker

We broke for lunch. I introduced myself to Emily Roark, whom I’d heard a lot about but hadn’t met yet, and we indulged in some humorous speculation as to why Mr. Sotomayor couldn’t seem to remember her name.

I went to the car with one of the former plaintiffs who was not involved in today’s hearing, and we called Rachel Lees to fill her in on the morning’s events. She had questions, the lilt in her “down under” accent a heady reminder that these plaintiffs were from all over the globe and that most of them had never met each other before they filed their lawsuit. We wanted to tell her everything, to make her feel like she’d been there. It was hard to tell how much she was able to follow due to the long distance reception, but she seemed encouraged by what we said, and it felt good to speak aloud some of our reactions from the morning.

It was still biting cold and windy, and I had left my coat in the car, so I grabbed that, too, before we went back inside. Once there, I walked around the courthouse, observing the groups congregating in clusters throughout the building. A few of the plaintiffs were eating lunch in the deli-style restaurant located inside the courthouse. There wasn’t much talking amongst them, except to wonder how the judge was reacting to what he had heard so far. I still had a strong feeling that he was looking for something specific to be addressed, and I still couldn’t tell if it had been. I passed Gothard huddled with his attorney and a couple of people from his small entourage. They were deep in hushed conversation.

Someone from one of the documentary teams approached me and asked what I thought of the recurring theme that most of the medical diagnoses, if there was one, came after the filing. My response was that if every civil claim for sexual misconduct damages based on repressed memories required a medical diagnosis before a claim could be filed, the justice system would be turned on its head. Where is the precedent for that kind of pre-preparation?

The question made me realize that Mr. Sotomayor had at least partially succeeded at something he may or may not have been trying to accomplish: he had cast doubt in the minds of his lay-person audience. Perhaps he realized—more than I initially suspected—that Gothard’s biggest obstacle to his goals at this point was not the civil court, but rather the court of public opinion. It wasn’t the civil court that would block him from repossessing the fruits of his life’s work—it was the change of heart of his former board, plus the pressure a few hundred families might put on the board—people who still depended on IBLP for their spiritual guidance and homeschool support, who needed to be won over. The public accusations against Gothard make him a liability to the future of IBLP. A ruling in his favor today would help his cause, but not substantially. He would need that retraction on the part of the plaintiffs that he had insisted they provide in order to settle without a hearing. A retraction they couldn’t, in good conscience, provide.

By the time of their voluntary non-suit, these plaintiffs had become advocates for more than their personal stories. They had become advocates for the silent victims who may never come forward with their stories. They had become advocates for potential future victims. They were victims no more. These warriors had become advocates for truth. When they filed, they already understood the nature of Bill Gothard. They knew his tendency to bulldog in order to get his way and to expose to the public details that weren’t his to share. They knew, and they filed their lawsuit anyway. How he could have imagined that they would retract their stories to avoid the misery and expense of this hearing, I’ll never understand. And here they were, in the DuPage County courthouse, inspiring nearly every individual in the courtroom with their boldness and clarity, their travel expenses having been generously covered by other former followers of Bill Gothard. These women are much more than the trauma of their stories, and they were not alone.

Motion for Sanctions: Rachel Frost

The hearing reconvened at one o’clock. Rachel Frost (her story HERE) was called to the stand next. She stood boldly and walked, just a little shakily, to the witness stand to be sworn in. Rachel has barely changed in looks or temperament from our days spent at Bill Gothard’s headquarters twenty-odd years ago. She has a quick wit and an even quicker laugh, and she can follow several threads of conversation at once without skipping a beat. Over the last several years, she has shown herself to be consistently strong and resilient—her unwavering faithfulness and integrity throughout her days working for Gothard as a teen having transferred through to adulthood, Rachel brought to the witness stand an unshakeable and longstanding credibility. She was a lioness—though she functioned as something of a mother hen during hearing week, making sure everyone was eating and sleeping and taking care of themselves. 

She walked to the stand looking nothing like the fitness instructor she is today, having chosen to wear a conservative black skirt suit with black heels. When she sat down behind the witness stand, I was struck by two things—the confident determination that I expected to see was there, but her face bore a pallor that I hadn’t expected. She was outside of her element in this moment, facing down the man who had taken so much from her—but she clearly had no intention of succumbing to it. I held my breath for her. I prayed. But grayish pallor or not, she had come prepared. Rachel had brought with her to Chicago a binder with all of her documents tabbed and coded. She had shown it to me the day before at breakfast, before she headed to her attorneys’ office. Rachel had studied every motion and response, and had made detailed notes for herself.

Mr. Sotomayor began by asking her, as he had several of the other women, when she had last had any contact with Gothard. She was quick to answer with dates and details. Mr. Sotomayor then pulled out one of those social media private chats from discovery that he’d been drawing from throughout the day. Rachel’s, like Charis’s, had discussed her feelings on the wording of the complaints, specifically the term “sexual abuse.” Mr. Sotomayor read aloud from her chat, “When he sent me the legal definition for sexual abuse, though, I really don’t feel right about calling my experience that. I had asked him to remove it and only list sexual harassment.” Rachel acknowledged her words, and after a roundabout line of question, Mr. Sotomayor asked her to clarify that her concern with the wording continued from the time of Mr. Gibbs III’s representation until the time of the third complaint filed by Myers and Flowers.

“No,” Rachel replied. “That is not correct.”

“Tell me what is not correct about it?”

“Because—” If you can imagine a human being both composed and emotionally wrought, it would have been Rachel in this moment—“if you or Attorney Gaffney had bothered to read any further in that conversation, you would have seen in a couple of comments later that I was second-guessing that and needing to think about it more myself, and concluding in those comments that, yes, even though I had no legal expertise, that [wording] was appropriate because when he grabbed my hair, it hurt. And it fit into the definition that Mr. Miller gave me, so, yes, I agreed with that—” Rachel choked on tears and paused a moment.

I felt a slow burn of anger welling up inside me. My inner mother bear reared her head and glared balefully at Gothard’s attorney.

“The definition—” Mr. Sotomayor spoke into the empty space, only to be interrupted by the judge.

“Let her finish her response.”

Mr. Sotomayor subsided, and Rachel concluded, “I agreed with my filing.”

“When was that that you agreed with the filing?”

“Two seconds after you cherry-picked that comment out that I didn’t agree.” Mic drop. My inner mother bear bowed to the clear superior in the room.

After this power shift, Rachel completely owned the questioning. When pressed, she expounded on her response, “And, actually, I was—unwisely—processing it [on Facebook] at that time. And my part of the piece you cherry-picked was me thinking that it didn’t possibly fit that definition, but I was not a professional. And then when they asked me, well, how old were you about that incident, and I said I was 17, then that sparked my memory to see that this actually could be placed in that. Because I was a minor at that time.”

Mr. Sotomayor saw an opening to his pet topic, and unwisely took it, “When you say it sparked your memory, you never had a repressed memory, did you?”

Rachel switched gears right with him, “I did, but I think that is another question.”

Mr. Sotomayor didn’t acknowledge his own non-sequitur. “When?”

Rachel wanted him to acknowledge it. “Unless you want to go there; we can go there.”

The only thing in my mind at that moment was one long OMG.

Mr. Sotomayor appealed to the Court, “Judge, I’m sorry, can you—maybe I deserve it, I don’t know, I don’t think so, but I think I get to ask the questions, not Ms. Frost.”

Judge Popejoy helped him out, turning to the witness stand. “You need to answer whether you ever suffered repressed memories or not. Did you or did you not?”

“Yes,” Rachel answered.

“Thank you.” Judge Popejoy nodded to her gravely. “Next question.”

Mr. Sotomayor found his train of thought, “When did you begin suffering from repressed memories?”

It was an odd way to ask, and Rachel didn’t miss that fact. “That is a strange question because when do you start? I don’t know, but I know when I—”

Mr. Sotomayor was trying to regain the power and was losing his patience at the same time, “Well, ma’am, you just stated—”

The judge interrupted his interruption again, “Let her finish, counsel. She is not done.” Then to Rachel, just as gently as before, “Go ahead and finish your answer.”

Rachel was back in control of her narrative. “Thank you. I know when the memories all made sense and came together and that was February of 2014.”

Mr. Sotomayor insisted on not getting it, “So, February of 2014, you claim that that is the month that you began having suppressed memory?” He sounded incredulous.

I may have rolled my eyes, landing on the bailiff mid-roll. He remained expressionless. I was impressed that he had made it this far through the day without developing an opinion that manifested itself to the courtroom. The court clerk was equally expressionless the entire day. They must have had to develop a pretty solid poker face over the years in a courtroom like this.

Rachel maintained the thread, “That is when repressed memories began to be unlocked for me.”

“And how—was this a medical diagnosis that you are referring to in February of 2014?” Again with the request for a medical diagnosis that he would likely object to if she offered it. It was hard to keep up with the inconsistencies in Mr. Sotomayor’s lines of questioning. But she didn’t have to attempt to answer, because her attorney objected again.

Mr. Sotomayor tried it another way. “This statement you just made, was that a result of you interacting with a licensed psychiatrist, a licensed doctor, a licensed psychologist, or is that something that you just came up with by yourself?”

Rachel made him work for it. “Which statement are you referring to?”

“The statement that you just said right now that in 2014 you were suffering, allegedly, from suppressed memory. Is that a statement based upon your independent evaluation? Yes or no?”

Rachel tried to answer; she really did. “I had a pastoral counselor tell me that, that is—”

But Mr. Sotomayor interrupted her, “Ma’am, I am asking you the question. I don’t want to know about anybody else. I am asking how you, in 2014 of February, came to the conclusion that you had repressed memory?”

It was becoming difficult to understand how she was getting it wrong. There didn’t seem to be a way she could answer that would be allowed.

Mr. Mincieli interjected, “I am going to object, your Honor. Your Honor, the entire time we have been here, he has been asking different witnesses about repressed memories. And when they give the fact that they actually have a diagnosis from a licensed professional, he doesn’t want to hear that because there is no foundation. But here, now, he is cross-examining her on the fact that she is not given a diagnosis. You can’t have it both ways. Either all the witnesses should get on the stand and tell you ‘my psychiatrist told me I had PTSD and that caused my repressed memories,’ or not.”

Thank goodness he said it; I sure was thinking it, and I don’t think I was the only one in the gallery who was.

However, confusing questions and inconsistency or no, answering the question about a clinical diagnosis would be hearsay, so the judge took it upon himself to word it in a way she could answer. “So how did you—in what manner did you come to a determination in February of 2014 that you had had repressed memory? Previous to that time, obviously.”

Rachel had the lay of the land, at this point, and she showed it in her answer, “Well, your Honor, I’m not a psychologist, so I couldn’t—”

The judge gave her the path: “But what were you feeling that made you feel that way?”

Rachel nodded and tried again, “I was feeling that for a very long time I had just a piece of the puzzle. Just a very small bit of understanding and many things that were not understood and pushed back and not processed for decades. And when I read Charlotte’s story on RG, it was like a load of bricks hit me and it all made sense and I could confirm some of her allegations with my direct experience with her and what I remember about those details. And I instantly remembered things that I had long forgotten or had mislabeled and did not understand.” This was the clearest explanation of repressed memories we had heard all day. And Rachel wasn’t finished schooling the courtroom.

Mr. Sotomayor tried a different tactic, “So would it be fair to say, based upon what you just said right now, that it wasn’t—these weren’t memories that had been suppressed, but, as you said, you had forgotten about these memories, correct?”

But Rachel was ready for this. “They were both. And you keep using suppressed or repressed interchangeably, and I don’t know why—what that term is.”

“Ma’am, you said that it was in this month of 2014, specifically February, that you—”

“This is January, sir. This is January, so it wasn’t this month of 2014.”

The clock was ticking on his twenty minutes. Mr. Sotomayor asked a few more questions, leading Rachel to the same admission he’d drawn from some of the others, that she didn’t see a doctor for a diagnosis before filing the lawsuit. Mr. Mincieli used his fifteen minutes to clarify her belief that she suffered from repressed memory in regard to this case, and Mr. Sotomayor used a few of his final five minutes to reiterate that her recovery of her memories was not in concert with a diagnosis before filing the lawsuit, and Rachel was dismissed from the witness stand.

Her expression remained as determined as it had when she crossed the bar nearly forty minutes earlier, but her skin was no longer blanched gray. There was a triumphant flush on her cheeks, and, as she passed Gothard on her way to her seat, she grabbed the lapels of her jacket and directed a hard look at him. She’d just had her day in court, and she’d owned it. Gothard did not meet her eyes.

Sanctions against Rachel Frost (pg 62-72)
Response to Sanctions by Rachel Frost

Continue reading Part Three