As a Democratic strategist with deep Maine roots, I have watched the party rush to rally behind Senate candidate Graham Platner. But I cannot stay silent about the women who have come forward with allegations—without consultants, without a campaign, without anyone standing behind them. Their stories demand more than the party’s quick consolidation.
Platner won the Maine Democratic primary with 72 percent of the vote, and the establishment moved fast. Planned Parenthood endorsed him. The party closed ranks. But what no one paused for were the women who simply said, “This is what happened to me.”
I have spent weeks following this story—the allegations, the denials, the interviews, the competing narratives. What stays with me is not the politics. It’s the women. As someone who has survived manipulation and emotional abuse, I recognize patterns: grabbing shoulders during arguments, an atmosphere of intimidation, volatility fueled by alcohol, the constant questioning of reality. That recognition is not proof, but it is not meaningless.
What troubles me most is how quickly the conversation shifts from what women are saying to why they are saying it. Why now? What is their motive? As if public scrutiny and ridicule are rewards. As if being disbelieved is painless. Many women remain silent because they know what comes next: their careers questioned, their credibility dismantled, their private lives turned into public fodder.
Platner has spoken about how exposing it is to run for office. I don’t doubt that. But he chose to run. He filed the paperwork, hired consultants, walked onto the stage. These women chose none of that. Their courage does not diminish the political stakes—it raises them.
I have dedicated my career to advancing Democratic causes, but I have never believed a candidate deserves my vote simply for having a “D” next to their name. There have been races where I could not reconcile a candidate’s values or conduct with my conscience. Maine is not abstract to me—my parents were born there, much of my family lives there, and my childhood summers there are the geography of my soul. I want Democrats to succeed, but I also want what is best for Mainers. Those desires sometimes exist in tension.
The growing expectation that we should set aside questions of character for electoral victory is deeply troubling. Elections come and go. Majorities rise and fall. But character remains. This is especially true given the context of the ongoing struggle within the Democratic Party over its direction. We cannot afford to ignore the human cost of our choices.
I was married to a combat veteran. I have seen firsthand the sacrifices military families make. I worked at the Pentagon developing policy on transition assistance, TBI, PTSD, and sexual assault. I know how trauma can fracture lives. But I also know countless veterans whose character remained intact through those struggles. Military service can help explain a chapter of someone’s life—it cannot automatically excuse harmful behavior. The suggestion that intimidation or volatility is a predictable feature of military transition does a disservice to both veterans and survivors.
Our veterans deserve better than that narrative. And women deserve better, too. The Democratic establishment’s rush to embrace Platner reflects a deeper crisis of priorities. We must not let political convenience override our commitment to integrity.
