Here is the speech Kai gave at sentencing just prior to being sentenced to 70 years to life.
Words cannot express how sorry I am for the damage and pain that I have caused to River, Crystal, Megan, and Carolyn. I would like to offer you my heartfelt and sincere apologies. I honestly didn’t know that I hurt you, but I do now. It’s clear to me from the testimony you have shared here that you have suffered greatly as a result of your interactions with me. I feel terrible about that. It was never my intention to hurt you, but I recognize that’s what happened. And I am very sorry.
To my friends and family who have supported me through this process, I want to apologize. Your support has meant everything to me. I have put you through so much, and I am truly sorry. I can only imagine how difficult it’s been to support me in this. You have made so many sacrifices for me, and I am humbled by that. These last three years have been difficult for me, and I’m sure they have been tough on all of you. Camus said, “There is scarcely any passion without struggle.” And Nietzsche said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” But I count no existentialists among my friends. I’ve always lived by the maxim, “Take what you want from life and pay for it,” to my chagrin, I learned too late that some debts are too great to be paid by one man alone. A wise man and my best friend once said, “Some debts are so great they cannot be repaid, only paid forward.” I can only hope for that opportunity.
In the last year-and-a-half, I have seen the sun only a handful of times and I have yet to feel its presence. I have never seen the stars. In prison, much is taken. But for me, the loss of the heavens represents an overt sense of isolation. It is not that this particular privation is the worst part of prison. There are many worse things, and most are too grotesque or mundane to bear mention. However, it is in the theft of the heavens that I see a pointed denial of hope, of ambition, of curiosity, the loss of it so keenly felt because of its absence from daily life. It is said that priests and fools are never afraid, and I have always been a little bit foolish.
Nevertheless, my incarceration has forced me to define and confront my worst fears. It is not, as one might expect, fear of overwhelming violence, an ever-present threat and one made worse by the seriousness and nature of these charges. What I’ve discovered I truly fear is the isolation inherent in being surrounded by people who lack understanding and appreciation of the characteristics that define me. It is this — a great fire burns inside of me, but in here no one stops to warm themselves, and passersby see only a wisp of smoke. I fear that I will stay behind bars until use and old age accept them and that all chance for valor or greatness is gone beyond not only desire but recall. You cannot go through an experience like this without being forced to consider your life, what you’ve made of yourself, where you started, where you are now, and whether you will leave the world in a better place than you found it. This experience has been so profoundly painful, it’s difficult to put it into words, because it is not representative of who I am.
I realize — I realize the court holds my life in its hands. If this is to be my end, I hope that I am remembered not by these actions, but by two of the values I hold above all others. The first is love, a love of family, of friends, of meaningful relationships. The second value is empowerment. Of helping people; I’m quick to lend aid, especially if the circumstances seem particularly daunting or intractable. Given that among my values I hold love and empowerment paramount, it is particularly painful to be accused of a crime so heinous that it necessitates the loss of agency on the part of the victim, and misogyny so pervasive it guarantees a hatred of women by the perpetrator, for the opposite of empowerment is loss of agency, just as the opposite of love is hate.
And yet I alone am responsible for the choices that have brought me here. I repeatedly made poor decisions to satisfy selfish desires with little regard for the consequences for myself, for my friends, and for my family, and for the victims in this case. I repeatedly chose to engage in high-risk, kinky sexual activity with intoxicated women I barely knew. While it was never my intention to cause harm, I can be pushy and persuasive. And it’s clear to me that you each felt taken advantage of and that you have suffered for it. I’m sorry for the pain this has obviously caused you and your families. It is my sincere hope that all of you go on to live normal, happy lives. While I am deeply sorry for all of my actions, I would like to take a moment to specifically address River. It is clear to me that you and your family have and continue to suffer greatly. I want you to know that I have never blamed you for wanting to pursue legal action against me.
I can only imagine how it must have felt to return home with little memory of the night’s events, to be told that two women had previously accused me of rape and one of them alleged that she was drugged. I imagine it was both traumatic and terrifying, and that the events of the last two years have only made this worse. I’ve struggled with this knowledge and have been at a loss of how I might fix it. I hope that my apology today brings you some sense of closure. I don’t know if my intention matters to you. I know first hand how hard it can be to look beyond one’s own suffering. But if it does, I hope you hear the honesty in my voice when I say it was never my intention to take advantage of you. To be clear, I’m not saying it wasn’t negligent. I should have known.
I don’t say these things to minimize the harm you and others have suffered as a result of your interactions with me, but because it is my hope that it is at least slightly easier to recover from damage unintentionally caused. The last person I want to apologize to is my mother. Mom, I’m sorry. I let you down, put you through hell. You stood by me. You sacrificed everything, and I ruined us. I’m sorry I can’t fix it. I’m sorry. Thank you.
The Court: Thank you, Mr. Bannon.
Defendant’s Mother: I love you, Kai.