I Lost My Freedom, Money, And Guns Based On No Evidence

Three weeks. That’s how long I was separated from my daughter. No trial. No crime. No violence. Just a single sheet of paper — a Protection from Abuse Order, or PFA — a civil court order meant to prevent harm, often issued on little more than an accusation. It can strip someone of contact with his or her children, home, and firearms — without a criminal charge. That paper took my daughter away from me.

I was only 23. My daughter was just a few months old. I was still learning how to be a dad — still learning the rhythms of fatherhood. Then she was gone. A sheriff handed me the order at my front door. I knew I was in for an uphill battle.

Over the next three weeks, I scrambled to find an attorney, build a defense, and dig through evidence to prove my innocence. Those weeks didn’t just take away my daughter. They took away my dignity. My voice. And for a time, my will to speak.

The State of Exception

Legal theorist Carl Schmitt once wrote: “Sovereign is he who decides the exception.” In other words, the true power of the state lies not in making laws, but in deciding when the law no longer applies. Philosopher Giorgio Agamben built on this idea, warning that modern states increasingly rule through exceptions — moments when the law suspends itself in the name of preserving order.

Most people think of these exceptions in cinematic terms, such as Abraham Lincoln suspending habeas corpus during the Civil War, the War on Terror and Guantanamo Bay, lockdowns during the Covid-19 pandemic. But a quieter kind happens in family court every day. No headlines. No outrage. Just a form, a sheriff, and silence.

That’s what a PFA is. It suspends due process, assumes guilt, and punishes before harm occurs. It creates what Agamben called a “zone of indistinction” — where someone is both inside the law and excluded from its protections. The man served a PFA becomes what Agamben called the Homo Sacer: not just punished without trial, but guilty until proven innocent.

Many PFAs are issued ex parte — meaning the accused isn’t present. The legal standard is a “preponderance of evidence,” often just one person’s fear. These orders are not granted purely on legal merit but under the weight of institutional self-preservation. As David N. Heleniak, a civil litigation attorney in New Jersey, wrote: “Just like FDA officials worrying about the headlines, judges deciding whether to enter domestic violence restraining orders have their careers to think about in addition to the merits of the particular cases before them.”

The Treatment Machine

After being served, you aren’t offered a defense — you’re given instructions. Comply. Cooperate. Prove your innocence. I was ordered to complete a co-parenting class and a 12-week “Nurturing Fathers Program” — not because I harmed anyone, but because I was accused. I was ordered to attend therapy. But I work long, irregular hours as a FedEx courier. So I paid $350 a month for BetterHelp just to find flexible sessions.

Eventually, my ex and I settled on a final order with no finding of abuse. But the terms of our final order were strict. We could only communicate through a co-parenting app. I couldn’t speak about anything but our daughter. I had to keep a set distance — except at drop-off. The PFA’s restrictions stayed active for six more months. I had to surrender my firearms — not due to conviction, but “precaution.” No trial, just control.

The Fifth and 14th Amendments promise due process. The Second guarantees the right to bear arms. Parental rights are fundamental. Yet PFAs bypass these guarantees. You can lose your child, home, and rights without a charge. The Supreme Court’s Bruen decision held that firearm restrictions must be historically rooted. PFAs are not. Nor do they meet the burden to suspend liberty or parenting rights.

What’s at stake is the balance of power between individual rights and state authority. When the state of exception becomes permanent, everything becomes political, and by extension, everything becomes punishable and subject to law, even in the absence of legal clarity.