Here’s what I still don’t understand: how someone like that ends up representing public institutions, influencing legislation, engaging in humanitarian work, and holding leadership positions under the banner of diplomacy and progress.
It’s not just painful — it’s disturbing.
This is a man with a known pattern of mistreatment toward women. And yet, he continues to be entrusted with roles that shape policies affecting lives, women, communities, and social programs. How can someone who causes so much private harm be permitted to hold so much public trust?
It’s not just about my story. I am not the only one. There are other women, other experiences, other versions of the same cycle. And still, the system continues to elevate him — turning a blind eye or perhaps never bothering to look closely enough.
Where is the vetting? Where is the ethical accountability? Where is the line between personal conduct and professional qualification — especially in roles that directly impact vulnerable populations?
These are not rhetorical questions. They are urgent.
The Role of Institutions
There’s a reason survivors don’t often speak up about powerful men. It’s not just fear of retaliation — it’s fear of being dismissed. It’s the fear of being told, “He seems like such a good guy,” or, “That was personal, not professional.” But the truth is, when personal harm is repeated and systematic, it is a professional issue — especially in roles tied to advocacy, leadership, and public service.
When institutions reward people like Joel with positions of influence, they send a clear message: charisma outweighs character, and credentials outweigh conduct.
It’s time we re-evaluate how we define leadership.
Being brilliant or well-spoken is not enough. We must ask deeper questions about emotional integrity, relational accountability, and the capacity to lead without harming others in the process.
I’m not saying people can’t grow. I believe in healing. I believe people can change. But accountability has to come first. Change does not happen without reckoning, without acknowledgment, without consequences.
And none of that has happened here.
On Mental Health and Manipulation
Let me be clear: I do not write this to stigmatize mental health. I know Joel has had struggles in that area, and like anyone, he deserves support and treatment. But mental illness is not an excuse for abuse. It’s not a pass for cheating, lying, degrading, manipulating, or silencing others. And it should never be weaponized to dismiss the harm he has caused.
Too often, abusers use their own pain as a shield — positioning themselves as victims while continuing to hurt others without accountability. That’s not healing. That’s manipulation.
True healing involves responsibility. It involves making amends. It involves stepping back from positions of power until trust is rebuilt.
None of that has happened either.
Why I’m Speaking Now
I am speaking because silence doesn’t protect people like me — it protects people like him.
I am speaking because I believe in systems that should work better. Systems that are supposed to represent justice, fairness, equity, and safety for all — not just for those who look good on paper.
I am speaking because too many women are told to “move on” while men like Joel move up.
And I am speaking for the women who are still in it. Who are still questioning themselves. Who are still loving someone who hurts them and hoping it will change. I want you to know: it’s not your fault. It never was. And it’s okay to walk away — even if they have power, a platform, or a PhD.
You don’t need proof to know you were mistreated. Your lived experience is real. Your voice is valid. And the silence we’ve been conditioned to keep is finally breaking.
Final Words
This isn’t easy to write. I know there may be pushback. I know people may question my motives. But this is my story. It’s my truth. And I carry it not out of bitterness, but out of responsibility.
Because when systems fail to protect us, we must protect each other.
If public institutions won’t hold abusive people accountable, then maybe our voices — shared bravely, vulnerably, and together — can begin to do what those systems won’t.
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