I was dragged out by sheriff's deputies. Indiana Democrats stayed silent.

Indianapolis Star

17-06-2025

I have spent my entire adult life working to advance the ideals of the Indiana Democratic Party.
I've poured my time, expertise, reputation, and heart into electing Democrats. I've defended policies I believed in. I've protected the people who proclaim to protect the rest of us. I helped build campaigns from the ground up, mentored staffers, trained interns, and gave everything I had to the belief that this party could be a force for justice.
At the June 9 City-County Council meeting, in the very chamber where I have sat as a professional, policy advisor, and believer in public service, I was dragged out and groped by law enforcement at the direction of those very Democrats I once helped into office.
All of them watched. Some turned away. Others remained silent. None of them intervened.
It wasn't because I had harmed someone, disrupted democracy, or posed a threat to anyone's safety. It was because I had the audacity to demand accountability for survivors of sexual assault harmed within our own party's infrastructure and city hall. Survivors who put their trust in us, in me, because we told them we were the party of women's rights that believed in bodily autonomy. Because we said we were different.
I worked for the Senate Democratic Caucus for nearly a decade. I fought like hell for their policies, districts, and image.
I was not just politically or professionally invested in the people who watched me in person and online, be removed. I had been to their weddings. Their baby showers. I've shown up at their doors when they lost loved ones. I've mentored their children. I've contributed to their campaigns. I've canvassed their districts, written speeches, edited press releases, and gone on television to defend their records, often sacrificing my own time in the process.
And now, when I've needed them most, hardly any of those officials have picked up the phone to check my well-being. When my image — my body — was plastered all over the news, groped by law enforcement's hands, there was overwhelming silence.
Not even the Chair of the Indiana Democratic Party, a woman I once called a mentor. A woman I believed, deeply, shared my commitment to safe, accountable, inclusive workplaces. A woman who has publicly acknowledged that workplace harassment in politics is no surprise.
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The emotional weight has been crushing. The physical toll is real. And the psychological harm — to me, to the survivors I support, and to my partner and family — continues to deepen. I would say that the silence from our party's leadership is deafening. But it's worse. The continued chatter to impugn my motives and treat me like a troublemaker is worse.
But who did reach out to inquire about my well-being? The workers. The staffers. The volunteers. The people with the least power and the most to lose. They wrote to me, called me, whispered encouragement when they thought no one else would hear.
The only entity within the state party that has come out alongside survivors is the Howard County Democratic Party. A county party, which understands the message we send as a state party, and from our capital city, is never neutral.
They've all asked me to keep going — not because they don't see what this is costing me, but because they know the truth:
If someone like me — who's spent two decades building relationships, delivering results, and holding confidences — can be tossed aside for daring to speak up… what does that say to every survivor working quietly within our systems? What does that say to our neighbors living at the margins, without titles, connections or political capital?
What does that say about who we are?
Imagine that it wasn't me that night — someone who benefits from whiteness, who is straight and cisgender — but a queer Black woman. A trans organizer. An undocumented survivor. Instead of being a white Hispanic woman, a brown woman. Or someone with no media presence, connections, or political history to soften the blow. I know for a fact there were people of color prepared to testify that night. They saw what happened to me and stayed silent — because they knew it would be worse for them.
That is what is at stake right now.
This is about the soul of the Indiana Democratic Party. Who we really are when it counts. Whether our commitments to justice, safety, and dignity are real, or just slogans we dust off every two years for a campaign.
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I haven't written this easily. I am grieving many losses– of relationships and expectations. But I still believe in accountability. I still believe in the people who whisper to me that they want to do better, but feel trapped in a system that punishes truth-telling.
To those people and everyone watching: now is the time to choose. Will we protect survivors, or protect those with perceived power? Will we lead with courage, or cower in silence? Will we be the party we claim to be — or something else entirely?
The Indiana Democratic Party cannot afford to look away any longer. Mayor Joe Hogsett has lost the moral clarity to lead and must resign. There are others who can do that job far better, and to the degree the people of Indianapolis deserve.
The truth is here. And so am I. Even now — especially now — I'm still fighting for what's right.