On this day seven years ago I stood trial for false accusations of domestic violence. In a court of law, I maintained my innocence and a jury found me unanimously “Not Guilty” of all citations of fourth degree misdemeanor domestic violence.
I have remained silent in providing my perspective, only maintaining my innocence and defending myself in the court of law, until now. This is my account of the series of unfortunate events that were perpetrated against me by the people I loved, by people with political power and significant public influence, and by people in our local media. Out of an abundance of caution of further retaliation and retribution, the names of real people have been changed.
The courtroom was packed the day of the trial, full of local women who served in various positions of power throughout the local community, all sitting on the side of the prosecution to support the lies of the false accuser, my former wife, the self-proclaimed victim. All these women were recruited by the influence of none other than our current Washington U.S. Senator “in tennis shoes,” whose motto was created by her loyal henchwomen, Tess, her political consultant, who lived in the local community. Tess was the real architect, using people to perpetuate these series of unfortunate events against me. Tess and I even attended the same church.
Aside from my lawyer, only one man sat on the side of the defense to support me that day. That man was my Dad. I am so thankful to my Dad for standing with me at that moment. He showed me unconditional love, loyalty, courage, and he modeled the true heart of a father to his son that I will cherish always and can only hope to emulate to my own boys. It was clear that everyone I had any connection to in the community had abandoned me to preserve their own credibility and status. The rest of them must have been too shy to declare their public support for the prosecution. I don’t blame any of the individuals for not showing up that day because I already knew in my heart they had done so much to help me realize my dreams of becoming a State Representative. This trial wasn’t their battle anymore and they had their own stuff in their own lives to figure out.
After more than twelve long hours, at the conclusion of the trial, all the women poured out of the courtroom in disgust, the lawyers and judge went behind the curtain of Oz to do their legal stuff, and only four people remained in the courtroom, including myself, my Dad, and a biased female reporter from a newspaper located seventy five miles away. The reporter was Niki, whose bias was based on her friendships with my former wife, Alana, our illustrious U.S. Senator in tennis shoes, and Tess, the Senator’s loyal henchwoman.
The fourth person was Kim, a woman I had previously exposed, and subsequently fired, for defrauding a local non-profit. An independent audit had discovered the evidence and reported it to the Board of Directors, and as the president at the time, I had acted according to the will of the Board. (Another story for another time).
With four people in the room, and possibly another reporter looming silently in the back, Kim approached my Dad who was still sitting down in the seat he had occupied all day. Kim hovered over my Dad, shaking her fists uncontrollably in anger, convulsing and waving her hands all about, yelling and shouting while spittling in my Dad’s face. She yelled and shouted down at him, “Shame on you for bringing this piece of shit into the world. Shame on you for raising this piece of shit! You should be ashamed of yourself! Your family and your future generations will bear this shame! Shame on you, sir! Shame on you! Shame! shame! shame!” My dad didn’t flinch, he simply sat there, defending me with his silence, letting her every word reflect right back on herself. After many long minutes of this, the woman finally tired of not getting a reaction and walked out of the room with one of the reporters. I have since heard Kim has been rewarded for her cheating and continuous lies with being elected to the local City Council.
The reporter, Niki, felt compelled to speak up next, but she had her sights set on me instead. Niki approached me cautiously and stopped at arms length to keep her distance. She waved her audio recorder around in the air as she began her attempt at berating me in the same manner as Kim had done toward my Dad. Niki, with raised voice, angrily attempted to get me riled up in hopes I’d react. Niki called me names, domestic violence abuser, piece of shit, over and over. It was all the same repeated angry words. Shame on me. Shame on my kids. Shame on their kids, as all future generations will inevitably become abusers. I followed my Dad’s example by giving no response. I simply let her words reflect back onto her.
When Niki finished her rant, she turned to walk out of the room. As she was about to exit through the door, I spoke up and said, “Since you are pretending to be a reporter, shouldn’t you at least pretend to want a quote for your newspaper article before you walk out?” She froze and turned around slowly, absolutely pissed like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. She snapped back, responding that she was a reporter, there was nothing “pretend” about her, unlike myself, concluding with, “I can’t imagine you have anything to say if you won’t admit to being a domestic violence abuser, but go ahead then, give me your quote.”
I began reciting the Apostles’ creed from memory. After I finished the first line she scoffed and told me to shut up. She rolled her eyes and stomped her feet like a possessed demon, or let’s be real, like a toddler not getting what it wants. Through the entire prayer she attempted to interrupt me and shut me down. She kept repeating, “When are you going to admit you are a domestic violent abuser?”
When I continued unwavering, she switched gears asking me what I thought my constituency would think about calling myself God. She obviously didn’t know the Apostle’s Creed and was not listening to the words of the prayer I was praying, which I continued in its entirety. When I finished, Niki responded that I was appalling for comparing myself to God and that I called myself Jesus Christ, as she stomped out of the room in her tall black boots.
Leading up to the trial, I was never arrested. I was never read my rights. I was told by the police detective that I wasn’t being charged with a crime. Instead, I was issued several citations based on evidence of a secret audio recording, and statements brought by my former wife that were corroborated by the Police Detective’s report.
The jury of the court found the citations so egregious that they unanimously determined I was entitled to have all my legal fees repaid under the sundry claims process according to Washington State law RCW 9A.16.110. Later, the Washington State Legislature, specifically the Speaker of the House and the Washington Senate Majority Leader, in collaboration with the Washington Governor, all worked together to deny my sundry claim, but allowed the approval of the other sundry claims submitted that same year.
Based on that Washington legislature´s denial and although there is no statute as such in writing, I have been repeatedly told by legislative leaders and the Governor’s staff that I will never be entitled to receive the money granted to me by the unanimous jury because I was denied the claim the one time. It’s common knowledge the legislature makes its own rules and breaks its own rules whenever it suits the legislative body. There’s a saying around the legislature that a bill never really dies, however someone in the Washington State government is not telling the truth when they say, “it can’t be done.”
In America there has been a commonly shared value that all citizens are innocent until proven guilty. The unfortunate truth, as I have learned and experienced first hand, is that this statement is empirically and categorically false in modern America. The court of public opinion and perception is the judge, jury, and law of the land in this country today. What a person did or didn’t do is simply irrelevant, because the loudest voice always wins. Not only have I lived this experience, everything I had of material value was taken from me instantly upon being accused, including the equity in my home and all my assets, taken away in a moment.
My saving grace was being able to successfully defend my rights to retain custody of my two boys. Since the boys were both born of my first wife, the false accuser wasn’t able to legitimately claim legal guardianship, although she tried many times in many forms. My former wife, Alana, even attempted to enlist my first wife to her cause, which thankfully also failed. Once again, another story for another time.
The conclusion of the trial wasn’t the end. I suffered two more years of stalking and harassment. My former wife, Alana, refused to get a divorce lawyer and refused to discuss divorce with my lawyer. She attempted to nickel and dime me with requests by calls, emails, and in-person visits with my lawyer in hopes he would charge me billable hours for her interactions. Alana went to the legislature and used the U.S. Senator’s favor and influence to persuade many legislators to sponsor and adopt a retaliation law for her benefit. The Washington State Senate Majority Leader sponsored the legislation which was adopted, penalizing individuals for stalling divorce proceedings as a means of further abuse. I suspect this action must have solidified Alana’s place within her political group of friends and she was given paid positions to oversee congressional campaign finances for Washington’s Third Congressional District.
Niki and her boyfriend, a photographer, worked for the same newspaper. Together they continued to stalk and harass me for about two years. They took covert photos of me, edited online photos, and used them to make up stories about me, publishing outlandish articles in the paper. Niki won awards for her published “news” and journalistic integrity. Her boyfriend won awards for his photos.
The sources of this journalistic integrity included, of course, quotes from my former wife, Alana. Bizarrely, they were also coming from a guy I had once considered a close friend. This guy crawled out of the woodwork unexpectedly and I hadn’t seen him in over a decade, so let’s be honest, he wasn’t much of a friend to begin with. I had no idea he was even in town again. It was later revealed that Alana had been cheating on me with him for up to a year before creating the false allegations against me. By the time of the trial, he had sent me several emails with pictures of Alana and him having sex, and other explicit activities. It seemed to be part of the overall strategy, attempting to sow self-doubt, hatred, or jealousy.
Two years after the harassment and stalking stopped, he sent me an email asking for forgiveness, to which I immediately replied, ”Of course.” Those are the last words I have exchanged with him to this day. Soon thereafter, I received a call from a friend who wanted to let me know that Niki’s boyfriend, the photographer, had suffered a sudden and unexpected stroke and died. After that, I haven’t seen or heard from any of the individuals in this story ever again since that time.
In the four years after the stalking and harassment ceased, I have applied for and been denied countless clients, contracts, and jobs because of these very public false allegations. Clients and employers who have hired me, later found out about the allegations and fired me. Many of my clients and employers in those years received anonymous envelopes containing selected court documents literally highlighted to insinuate I was guilty of being a domestic violent abuser.
I don’t know that anyone could have had the mental fortitude not to be affected by all the harsh, violent, and damning actions of others. I admit I spent many of the last seven years wallowing in the darkness of self-pity, self-doubt, sadness, pain, shame, and betrayal, reliving the nightmare of harm those I thought loved me, cared for me, and those who used their authority to torment me. I’ve also learned a lot about domestic violence, although I will refuse to consider myself abused or a victim. I learned there is a huge gap between what the government, our laws, and our courts define as domestic violence and abuse, especially in comparison to what psychologists and the mental healthcare system defines as domestic violence and abuse.
There is an important distinction between legislation and healthcare that is getting blurred and confused by the #MeToo movement and other culturally relevant topics of abuse in the workplace. While I support the essence of the #MeToo movement, unfortunately there are people using it as a source for deceitful purposes destroying the lives of innocent people in the name of domestic violence and abuse. My hope is that by telling my story, more people will realize that not everything is what it seems and more needs to be done to safeguard against the bad actors of the world to ensure this world is truly a better place for all.
Written by Justin “JD” Rossetti, Published January 27, 2024