At 26, I should have been preparing to walk across the stage at Wharton business school holding an MBA diploma. Instead, I was standing on my own in a Philadelphia courtroom about to ask a judge for a piece of paper that could save my life.
Doom was my dominant emotion. When I told the judge that my husband — also a Wharton MBA candidate — held a loaded gun to my head and savagely beat me more times than I could remember, I knew the judge would likely believe my husband, not me.
When I saw Ohio Rep. Max Miller’s livestream video denying allegations that he abused his ex-wife Emily Moreno and their daughter, I felt my body go on alert.
Because standing across from me in court was my husband — a tall, blond, athletic Irish American in his early 30s, a magna cum laude Ivy League graduate, a former Wall Street investment banker, the first member of his family to graduate from college.
They say abusers are charming. Somehow this implies that if you were smart enough, you would see the invisible warning on their forehead stating, “I AM CHARMING AND CREDIBLE SO THAT I CAN KILL YOU ONE DAY WITH IMPUNITY.”
I wasn’t that smart. No one really is. He had fooled me and I knew he would fool the judge. No one would believe me, I thought. I was sure the next time, he would make good on his threats to destroy me.
This all happened long ago. This past Sunday, when I saw Ohio Rep. Max Miller’s livestream video denying allegations that he abused his ex-wife Emily Moreno and their daughter, I felt my body go on alert. Miller has denied allegations of abuse that include throwing hot water at Moreno, holding a gun to her head and possibly fracturing his 2 1/2-year-old daughter’s collarbone. Yet watching him onscreen, I couldn’t help detecting in his demeanor, his delivery and the way he cast doubt on Moreno’s claims a familiar pattern of behavior.
In his video, Miller alleges that his wife said under oath that he had not abused their child, he offers up a text message in which she says she appreciated their “friendly” postdivorce relationship, and he says she offered to cook dinner for him six days after an alleged incident of abuse. Anyone familiar with the dynamics of domestic violence knows that these things do not necessarily mean that violence did not occur. Denial, recantation, lying under oath and appeasement are survival tactics that victims often employ to protect themselves and their children, even after divorce or separation.
I felt the same trepidation watching Miller deflect and deny claims in a Tuesday interview with Jake Tapper on CNN, during which Miller denied Moreno’s allegations again and addressed a statement from his former father-in-law, Ohio Sen. Bernie Moreno. In that appearance, Miller also said, “Trump faced the similar accusations and was resilient; like Trump, I’m a fighter and American people respect that resilience.” President Donald Trump was found liable for sexually assaulting and defaming E. Jean Carroll, which he denies.
Emily Moreno alleges in court documents that her ex-husband threw boiling water at her. In his Sunday livestream video, Miller calls it “horseplay in the kitchen.” He states without evidence that his ex-wife “struggles with serious mental health challenges,” casting doubt on the trustworthiness of her words. Miller claims that “this is a private dispute turned into public spectacle,” invoking the patriarchal maxim that what happens to a family behind closed doors should not be meddled with.
Our instinct is often to discount abuse allegations when they hit close to home or involve men we admire.
No matter whether we are judges, police officers, friends or neighbors, our instinct is often to discount abuse allegations when they hit close to home or involve men we admire. Beware assumptions based on education, skin color, commitment to public service, political affiliation, attractiveness or Midwestern roots. Family violence happens in all kinds of neighborhoods and church groups, and at every income and education level, demographic and region of the country. One in 3 women will be a victim at some point in her life. This means your daughter, your sister, your employee, your boss, you. Up to 95% of abusers are men. Victims and abusers are everywhere, hiding in plain sight.
There’s something bigger at play here. Regardless of what happened between Moreno and Miller, his words reinforce harmful and false claims about the realities of abuse. In the livestream, Miller claims erroneously, “If the allegations were true, I’d be in jail and I certainly would not have joint custody of our child.” That is objectively false. Domestic violence and coercive control are among the most underreported and under-prosecuted crimes in our country, despite being felonies. Only about 25% of abusive incidents are reported to the police. Less than 2% of total incidents result in jail time. In terms of family court disputes, in roughly 70% of cases where mothers report abuse, the abusive father receives sole or shared custody.
As for my long-ago case, the judge listened. Not to me. But he took the advice of the advocate from a local shelter who saw through my ex-husband’s charm and false denials. Together, they gave me the protection I needed, with the judge issuing an order that stripped him of his guns and forced him to keep his distance. After graduating, I was able to take a job as far as geographically possible from his obsession and dominance.
I went on to remarry a nonviolent man, have children, start a career in business and as an advocate for abused women. My story’s ending is one of hope: By understanding abuse, we can support victims in breaking the cycle and strengthen our society overall.
Miller has not been charged with any allegations of violence or abuse. Yet his choice of portrayal in the public eye should make all of us question how we handle and respond to reports of violence.
During my final months sharing a campus with the man who had tried to kill me, my professors and classmates rallied around me; a locksmith dropped everything to make my apartment safe; my mother gave me economic support; a divorce lawyer and therapist offered wise counsel; the police were sensitive and compassionate. My community responded to my crisis with empathy born of understanding that a woman leaving an abuser needs respect, protection and cheerleading in order to rebuild a life shattered by violence.
The reality remains that more than 1,000 women and girls die every year at the hands of abusers. Physical abuse is one of the most common reasons women visit emergency rooms, costing an estimated $5.8 billion annually. Keeping victims frightened, silent and not credible is key to perpetrating widespread and repeated abuse. And protecting aggressors demands from us, as a society, an enormous price.
The harrowing reports about Miller provide a window into how society fails abuse victims. My mind goes to survivors watching Miller publicly demonize his accuser and skillfully dodge direct questions. The message is clear: Despite three decades of the national Violence Against Women Act, and countless high-profile women coming forward to educate our society about the realities of family violence, it remains risky to report, to come forward, to speak up. With the standard the current administration has set, perhaps that shouldn’t surprise any of us. It’s still heartbreaking to watch.
The post I’ve spent decades advocating for victims of abuse. I know how dangerous Max Miller’s words are. appeared first on MS NOW.
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