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“A Nightmare That Won’t End”: Dealing with False Allegations

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A person who obtains a fraudulent restraining order or otherwise abuses the system to bring you down with false allegations does so because you didn’t bend to his or her will like you were supposed to do.

To contest the restraining order (or whatever other state process was abused) is to once more defy the will of your accuser.

No surprise then that such an accuser will up the stakes on you. Defy subsequent allegations, and your accuser will escalate them further. This is especially the case when your accuser is female. It’s not for nothing that the (mis)quotation, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” has become immortal. (And it’s not only men who have to fear this wrath; women can be at least as vehemently and doggedly brutal to other women.)

It’s rare for a false accuser to relent.

This is partly due to psychology and partly due to how easily the processes we’re talking about are abused. Restraining order issuance, for example, pretty much follows a revolving-door policy: plaintiffs are in and out in minutes.

Once a foothold is attained, and the paperwork starts mounting in the plaintiff’s favor, she’s committed and feels ten feet tall, and the snowball begins rolling downhill on its way to becoming an avalanche.

One success (that first rubber-stamped round of allegations) assures that a repeat performance will be that much easier. And it is. Both police officers and judges have been “educated” to react paternally to allegations leveled by women, and the worse those allegations are, the more hastily they’re swallowed. Initial allegations once validated by a judge’s signature, moreover, make future allegations that much more credible and future judges’ eyes that much narrower.

Each added strand strengthens and sustains the web of lies and makes it that much more lethal a snare.

Any number of men and women have written to this blog reporting that they never had a run-in with the law in their lives, and now, in the span of a few months, they’ve been transmogrified into Attila the Hun.

And no one gazing down the tunnel from the far end—whether an employer, a neighbor, or a judge—can perceive that it originates with some calculated lies scrawled on a bureaucratic form: “Hey, can I borrow your pen for a sec? I’ll give it right back.”

Lies like these, upon multiplying like cancer cells and having as they do the full force of public policy behind them, can take over lives.

And, relentlessly chewing, chewing, chewing like the parasitic agents they are, destroy them.

Processes that are supposed to defend people from abuse provide liars with the perfect media to make their wildest vengeance fantasies come true.

Copyright © 2013 RestrainingOrderAbuse.com

Ordure in the Court: On False Restraining Orders and What It Means to Get One

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I’ve recently tried to debunk some of the myths that surround the administration of restraining orders. This post is about what it’s like to actually be the recipient of one, particularly a fraudulent one.

Among the uninitiated, there’s a belief that there’s some kind of prelude to the moment a constable shows up at your door. There isn’t. Restraining orders are as foreseeable as a shovel to the back of the head.

Constables, incidentally, are nice guys. Like process servers, they’re quick to assert that they’re just the messengers—and they are, of course: they otherwise have nothing to do with anything.

The motive forces behind the issuance of a restraining order are two people: the plaintiff (the person who drops by the courthouse to allege that you’re a fiend) and the judge who interviews him or her for a few minutes before validating his or her allegations with a signature.

Application for a restraining order is a fast-food process designed so that a plaintiff legitimately in need of urgent relief from a stressful situation can obtain that relief quickly and easily. The humor of this is only appreciated by recipients of fraudulent restraining orders petitioned by plaintiffs who are willful manipulators of a system primed to take them at their word.

Restraining orders are issued ex parte: a judge never sees or knows a thing about the person s/he approves a restraining order against. What this means in practical terms is that whatever a plaintiff alleges against you, no matter how damningly untrue, is all a judge has to go on. In other words, you’re guilty until proven innocent. And there’s really no ceiling on what a plaintiff can allege: battery, sexual violations, stalking, theft—you name it. (Plaintiffs who can’t squeeze all of their allegations into the blanks on the restraining order form are allowed to use a separate piece of paper.)

The plaintiff doesn’t have to actually prove anything. The burden is entirely upon you to discredit whatever the plaintiff alleges, and what s/he alleges is only limited by his or her ethics if s/he has any. Otherwise what s/he alleges is only limited by his or her imagination and malice.

Consider what your worst enemy might relish having permanently stamped on your public record. At the moment a restraining order is applied for against you, it’s a fair bet its plaintiff is your worst enemy.

Judges, who should know better than anyone the lengths people will go to to injure one another, have been instructed to react mechanically in the presence of certain criteria like claims of threat or danger. They don’t know the plaintiff. They don’t know the defendant. They’re often just responding to cues without letting much deliberation interfere. They don’t have to worry about professional censure, because this is established practice.

So. A plaintiff waltzes into a courthouse, takes a number and fills out a form, waits to see a judge, makes his or her plea, and more than likely leaves the courthouse feeling validated by the judge’s approval of his or her restraining order, regardless of whether the allegations on that order bear any correspondence to the truth. S/he’s feeling high and righteous (and possibly wickedly gratified).

The defendant is greeted the next day by an officer—at his or her home and possibly in front of friends, family, and/or neighbors—and served with an order from the court that may accuse him or her of violence, stalking, or other perversions and that warns him or her in no uncertain terms that s/he’ll be arrested for any perceived violations of that order. (S/he may alternatively be forcibly removed from that home on the same basis with nothing but the clothes on his or her back and denied access to children, pets, property, money, and transportation—for a year, a number of years, or indefinitely.)

It’s estimated, based on statistics extrapolated from government studies, that one in five recipients of restraining orders is pretty much the person his or her accuser has represented him or her to be, has pretty much done what s/he’s been accused of doing, and that whatever that is is bad enough that s/he shouldn’t be much surprised by a knock on the door from a person in uniform.

For the other 80% of restraining order defendants—recipients of orders that were either dubiously necessary or based on false allegations—their lives may well come to an abrupt halt. Recipients of fraudulent restraining orders, especially, may be traumatized by feelings of gnawing outrage, betrayal, mortification, and impending doom. The rhetoric of restraining orders is calculated to inspire dread—maybe so most recipients simply slink away into a gloomy corner. It reflects better on the court and its statistics if restraining orders stick.

Insomnia, persistent feelings of vulnerability and distrust, anxiety, depression, retreat—the stress responses people report are predictable and are ones, obviously, that can lead to physical and psychological illness, sidetracked careers, and neglected, scarred, or broken relationships. In most cases, restraining orders that do stick—and that’s most of them—never come unstuck. The stink follows you wherever you go.

Even the rare few who manage to extricate themselves from trumped-up allegations, usually with the help of a competent attorney, are never the same. What may have been an attention-seeking stunt performed by some pathetic schemer over a lunch break leaves a permanent impression.

Like a shovel to the back of the head.

Copyright © 2013 RestrainingOrderAbuse.com

The Real Obstacle to Exposing Restraining Order Fraud: Blind, Gullible Faith

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What most people don’t get about restraining orders is how much they have in common with Mad Libs. You know, that party game where you fill in random nouns, verbs, and modifiers to concoct a zany story? What petitioners fill in the blanks on restraining order applications with is typically more deliberate but may be no less farcical.

Consult any online exposition about restraining orders or a similar legal remedy for harassment or threat like the law against telephone (or “telephonic”) harassment, and you’ll find it’s taken on faith that someone seeking such a remedy has a legitimate need.

And it’s not just taken on faith by expository writers but by cops and judges, too, who’ve been trained to react paternally, especially to allegations of threat made by women—as, in the age of feminist ascendency, we all have to some extent by dint of cultural osmosis and conformity.

I mention the law against telephone harassment, because its ease of abuse was recently brought to my attention by a respondent to this blog. What this law is meant to do is provide relief from harassing callers like cranks, heavy breathers, or hangup pranksters—or to get people off your back who are threatening you.

How, you might ask, does someone prove what was said or exchanged during certain telephone calls? S/he doesn’t. Unless the calls were recorded, there’s no way a third party can know what transpired. It’s presumed that someone who complains is telling the truth (and what’s supposed to be presumed, of course, is that the person who stands accused is innocent).

The insurmountable unh-duh factor here is that someone with an ax to grind and no scruples about lying to cops and judges can make up any story s/he wants: “He said he was going to burn my house down!”

Now, let’s say you have to defend yourself against an allegation like this and what you really said was, “Hey, Sally. I just called to say thanks. That fondue you sent over was delicious!” And maybe you called back later to get the recipe. And maybe you really thought the fondue—or whatever it was—was revolting, and you think Sally is certifiably bats, but your sister said to be nice to her. And maybe Sally asked you over to see her collection of porcelain ballerinas, and you politely declined and inadvertently hurt her feelings, and now Sally feels spurned and hates your guts.

How do you prove you didn’t threaten to burn Sally’s house down? Or to eat her cat with some fava beans and a nice Chianti?

You can’t. The burden of proof that should be your accuser’s is yours. Justice, which is supposed to be blind, is instead blindly credulous: “Yeah, yeah, and then what happened?”

Restraining orders work the same way and are just as easily abused by wanton frauds (in fact, they too can be based on telephone calls). Police officers and judges have very literally been trained to accept the stories they’re told like baby birds awaiting a regurgitated meal.

Any number of people have written in to this blog whose lives have been highjacked by vengeful liars, attention-seekers, embittered (ex-)spouses or (ex-)lovers, psychopaths, or flat out predators. Many, targeted by the particularly and devotedly malicious, have even been jailed on false allegations. Their personal and professional lives have been scarred if not derailed or demolished.

They plan to sue. They plan to seek media attention. They plan to write a book (or, um, start a blog). Being vindicated from obscene lies validated by a complacent judge or earnest cop becomes their mission in life.

Sound mad? If it does, that’s because the same thing hasn’t happened to you.

Copyright © 2013 RestrainingOrderAbuse.com